


Goodbye and Good Riddance to Bad Luck

by FlyingButtress



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adult minds in the bodies of children, Ambiguous Morality, Cuddling, Happy Ending, Infant!sam, Kid Fic, M/M, NOTHING SEXUAL AT ALL, Pre-Slash, Roughly Season 5 Era, Time Travel, Toddler!Cas, Toddler!Dean, not just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 08:35:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22967041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyingButtress/pseuds/FlyingButtress
Summary: Stumbling into a cult ritual leads Sam and Dean on a new adventure in some old, familiar places, like their childhood home and their mother's arms. The only downside is they're also in their old bodies, and with danger looming around every corner, to boot.With help from the angels, Dean has to find and stop the man responsible for putting Dean back in his 4-year-old body, balancing childhood with his very adult responsibilities. Somewhere along the way, he lost all dignity, but at least he's not stuck in a baby carrier like Sam. And since they're already here, they might as well fix some other events.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 18
Kudos: 242





	Goodbye and Good Riddance to Bad Luck

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this happened. Full disclosure, this was written around 2015 and even then I had really only seen up to season 5 with my full attention. Details may vary, liberties were definitely taken. The Impala is referred to as "Baby" and I will not apologize.
> 
> They're not really "chapters" but I titled them, a compromise.
> 
> Main title blatantly an AC/DC song.

Big Oops from the Get-Go

Somewhere in the middle of Arkansas, Sam and Dean interrupted a cult ritual. Unfortunately for them, they hadn’t been aware they were walking into a cult at the time, so when they got into the blocked-off warehouse, found an entrance to an underground cave system, and followed it into a huge, cavernous room lit by candles and glowing sigils, filled with nearly fifty people wearing the same outfits, they froze.

In a matter of seconds, Sam and Dean were disarmed and forced on their knees in the center of the room, their own guns turned on them by the members of the cult. They were all wearing yellow robes, brown boots, cheap plastic masks over their faces, and looked just generally super cult-y with just a touch of kitsch.

“Look, we didn’t mean to cause any trouble,” Sam said, trying to placate them as he kept his hands in the air. Dean was mimicking the pose across from Sammy inside the center of a massive ritual circle. It was hard to tell if Sam was trying to appeal to the good nature in people or stall long enough for one of them to come up with a plan and start to execute it.

Dean didn’t even bother with the people, tilting and twisting his head as he tried to make out what the circle was made from between people’s legs and feet. It was drawn in blood on the stone ground, carefully depicting runes and glyphs, the concentric circles a little wobbly but painstakingly laid out. It was all dried in place, not smeared by the fact everyone in the room seemed to be trampling all over it. He couldn’t quite see it all, but it wasn’t looking too good. “Uh, Sammy?” Dean interrupted his brother. “We need to get the fuck out of here, like, yesterday.”

Sam turned his attention to Dean, gave him a look that said, _Duh, what do you think I’ve been trying to do,_ and was about to say more to their large crowd of captors gathered around, but then Big Head-Honcho Boss Man walked into the center circle with them, the other members gathering around close but staying outside of the innermost circle.

This was clearly the leader because he was wearing some weird kind of gilded gold flat collar-thing over his yellow robes like some ancient god-like pharaoh, and walked with his nose in the air. He looked to be in his early-to-mid fifties, gray at his temples and had brown eyes that almost glowed with a devastatingly crushing superiority-complex.

The man looked around at the members of the cult, then lifted his hands in the air. “My friends,” he called in a loud, confident voice, though Dean was a little distracted by the size of the scary-looking knife the man was holding up. “Tonight, we return to an old world to make it new again!” All around them, the cult cheered, raising their own knives high into the air. So it was one of _those_ cults, Dean realized.

He started frantically praying to Cas, but when the angel didn’t immediately appear, Dean started searching for a way out of this. It wasn’t exactly that Dean was afraid of death, he’d experienced it before, Sammy had experienced it before, and though it wasn’t pleasant, it no longer held an air of mystery around it that everyone else feared.

What Dean _was_ afraid of was dying inside of the ritual circle with runes and sigils that mentioned ‘time’ and ‘blood’ and ‘mind’ because hell if he wanted to let all these people “return to an old world to make it new again,” as the man said.

And sure, Dean had said some things to the angel in the prayer that if they had been said to him, he never would have acknowledged that person’s existence again, but Cas _really_ needed to get his ass there, now!

Right as he thought it, Cas appeared in the circle behind the leader with a glower on his face in Dean’s direction. For a moment, Dean was absolutely thrilled at the sight of that glower, because _Cas_! But then all around them, every single member of the cult sliced their own throats open and fell to the floor.

Cas’ glower quickly turned to horror as he looked around the room, sounds of pained, choked breaths echoing in the cavern and before Sam, Cas, or Dean could figure out what to do, the entire circle around them lit up in an explosion of light that concentrated on the blade in the man’s hand.

In the seconds that light lasted, Dean got to his feet and reached out to Sam and Cas in the hopes of a last-second teleportation, but he couldn’t see a damn thing and even though he was pretty sure he had stood up and was in the process of moving, it felt like the air all around him had turned solid and was keeping him in place. Then he felt a harsh tug on his stomach that wrenched his entire body so hard, so violently that he couldn’t even manage to stay conscious.

* * *

Upsets and Upsides

Waking slowly, groggily, Dean whimpered at the deep ache he felt all over his body. He couldn’t move because of the pain. He was lying down on his back on a mattress, a pillow under his head and a blanket tucked around him. It wasn’t exactly a physical pain, though he felt it everywhere. It was more along the lines of pressure pain, like his entire body was being squeezed into too little space, in a non-gory, no-compactor kind of way. Like he was wearing a costume that was several sizes too small.

He had no idea how he got there, wherever “there” even was. He had a vague feeling of safety, brought on by the bed, the blanket tucked around him, and the scent of something delicious and distantly familiar, like a memory he hadn’t touched in years. For a few, amazing seconds, Dean drifted in and out of focus, smelling that smell and ignoring the pain in a way he had grown familiar with over a lifetime of hunting.

And then he placed the smell, butter pecan pie, his mother’s old specialty, and Dean bolted upright in bed, eyes snapping open to find he was in a child’s bedroom, comforter around him a dark blue that matched the wallpaper border of astronauts and spaceships along the top of the entire bedroom. He frantically scanned the room, seeing toys scattered around the floor, a few small socks and shirts strewn about, and a door partially left open to reveal bright light streaming inside, matching the light streaming from the window to his right.

Dean stumbled out of the bed, immediately falling to the floor and scrambling around in a panic, trying to figure out where he was and why he was here. What he found when he fell to the floor, however, increased his panic tenfold, because last time he’d seen his hands, raised above his head in the inner circle of the cult with a gun pointing at him, they had not been so small and chubby. He stared at them holding him up from the gray carpet he’d landed on and wiggled his fingers, watching as the fingers on those chubby little baby hands wiggled on his command.

The panic welling inside of him was cold and liquid, sloshing around in his stomach and up through his esophagus until it burst out of him in the form of complete bawling screams and heavy, hot tears rolling down burning, rounded cheeks. He didn’t want to cry, but there was literally nothing he could do as he screamed and sobbed his fear to the world.

“Dean! Dean?” a voice cried out from behind the door, and for a moment, Dean almost stopped crying, but when a man shoved open the door with real fear on his face, Dean was suddenly crying out even louder, pushing himself away from what looked to be like a younger, less-burdened John Winchester rushing towards him. “What’s wrong, kiddo?” John asked, searching all around Dean for signs of injuries, not unlike the way he used to after a hunt that hadn’t gone terribly well, though usually it was Sammy that got the frantic once-over first. “Did you fall out of bed?”

Dean paused his screaming cries long enough to take in a huge, ragged breath, and then wailed on like it was the only thing keeping this nightmare at bay.

“John, is he okay?” a woman’s voice called, swimming in concern as she appeared in the doorway with her hands caught on each other in front of her. She was beautiful, wearing a burgundy apron with light dustings of flour on it and her hands covered in the stuff like gloves. Her eyes were such a vibrant green in the light streaming in from the window, focused entirely on Dean and John crouching down in front of him.

As soon as he laid eyes on her, Dean stopped. He stopped crying, stopped screaming, stopped breathing, stopped everything and just stared at her. It should have been impossible. Dean should have feared the worst, he was being tricked or dreaming, but there in the doorway, glowing with life and beauty so much brighter and stronger than Dean could have ever remembered, was Mary Winchester.

Somewhere else nearby, another wail started, high-pitched and screaming like the sound of a baby.

“Oh, now what’s gotten into Sammy?” Mary asked, turning from the doorway to go check on the baby right as John reached forward and scooped Dean up into his strong, safe arms, but the moment Mary disappeared, all the panic, the fear, the guilt, the regret, every moment that had happened on a hunt, every life lost, including Dean’s and Sam’s, and all their friends, even John’s death, came crashing down on Dean hard, making the little heart in his little chest pound furiously. He grabbed onto the blue shirt John was wearing, threw back his head, and let it all out at once in such raging panic that his eyes were forced shut and he could feel spit and snot and tears all over his face.

Unsettled by his son’s panic, John rocked Dean gently, rubbing his hand soothingly on his back in an attempt to calm the boy down, but nothing really seemed to work until Mary walked back into the room with little baby Sammy tucked under her chin, rocking steadily from heel to heel and bouncing, having more success with the swaddled child than John.

Almost instantly, Dean stopped crying again, his entire attention focused on the green eyes in that baby’s face, wide and focused on Dean, sharing emotion that no child should be able to emote at such a tender age of only a few months. And Dean thought he knew what had happened, or what might be what happened.

The runes of ‘time’ and ‘mind’ and all that stuff that he’d been able to see around the feet of the cult, the ritual had somehow sent them back into their younger bodies. For what purpose was still a complete mystery, though the words Boss Man had said still echoed in his mind. “Return to an old world and make it new again.” This could apply. If they had been sent back to their younger bodies, if they could _influence_ things around them to turn out different from what happened, everything could be different, could be made _new._

“I think they’re bonding,” Mary’s voice murmured, and John’s agreeing sounds reverberated in his chest, bouncing through Dean’s body and waking him up from his thoughts. Dean was still staring into Sammy’s green eyes, but now they were right next to each other, John and Mary rocking together side-by-side with their sons in their arms. Instinctively, Dean reached out a hand and took one of Sammy’s, feeling the vice-like fingers clench down on his as they looked at each other, sharing their confusion and panic as their parents, no longer dead or angry, held them together. A complete family unit that hadn’t existed for over thirty years.

* * *

A Real-Life Mother or Two

The overwhelming panic didn’t completely dissolve, but after a few minutes of being together, Dean felt so much irrational comfort and safety from being in the presence of these two adults and one baby, he was able to manage it.

There was a beeping that came from the direction of the kitchen, a room Dean vaguely remembered being a floor below Sammy’s, which was across the hall from Dean’s. The house, the very same house, where everything went wrong the first time. And considering how young Sammy looked and with no idea what date it was, everything could go that way at any moment.

“Oh, that’s the pie,” Mary said. “Take him,” she added, holding out the baby to John, and John put Dean down on the ground on his feet to take Sammy and coo at his face. Without hesitating, Dean followed after Mary, almost immediately tripping over his own short, uncoordinated stubby legs but catching himself on the wall as he hurried after his mother.

When he reached the stairs, he was immediately daunted by them, feeling trepidation of their height and their length in comparison to his much smaller stature. If Sammy was born and Mary was still alive, Dean estimated he was in his 4-year-old body.

“Dean-o, where are you going?” John asked as Dean reached up to the railing going down the stairs and started descending while clinging to the metal handle, one step at a time, two feet on each step. It probably looked ridiculous, but if that’s how 4-year-olds had to get around, that’s how Dean was going to do it. “Dean-o?” John repeated, walking out to the banister to look at Dean descending the stairs carefully and much slower than Mary had. Sam was pressed comfortably against John’s chest, head turned to watch Dean move, as well.

“To the kitchen,” he stated, his voice young and squeaky and weird to hear. Being 4 already sucked balls so much. He was focused on moving forward, grasping at the handle and stepping down the next step, keeping it up until he reached the bottom, despite hearing the chuckles from his father.

“When you’re done helping your mother, don’t forget to come back upstairs to get dressed,” John called, walking into Sammy’s room as he did.

With determination, Dean stalked into the kitchen, already on a hunt for what he needed to keep a demon out of the house. There was little a 4-year-old kid could do against a demon like the one coming after Sammy and Mary, but he would do everything in his power, no matter what.

It took him a moment to navigate through the house to the kitchen, and once he was in there, Mary pulling out the pie from the oven with a mitt that matched her apron and setting it on a rack to cool off, he started searching the cabinets he could reach for salt.

“What are you doing, little man?” Mary asked, her voice so pleasing and musical, Dean stopped for a moment to listen to it. “You’re still in your PJs.” She took the gloves off, poking a little at the pie crust before turning a wide smile on her son. “Are you here to help me?”

Dean looked up at her, heart aching for a moment at the innocent, breathtaking smile she was giving him, a smile she could give to anyone throughout time, so long as she lived. There was a moment where Dean weighed the risks of demon invasion during the day to his inner desires, and he made a decision he doubt he’d regret.

“Yes,” he replied, waddling to her legs and pressing his face against the material of her pants. It was black denim, not the softest, but so warm and safe, Dean thought he might start crying again. Before he could, he stepped back and lifted his arms up, making grabby motions before thinking about it and waiting for her to respond.

“Oh, you’re going to get too big for me to pick up soon, kiddo,” she said, reaching down and wrapping her arms around Dean’s little body. She was so warm, Dean circled his arms around her neck, pressing against her chest below her head and hugging her with all of his might. She laughed and hugged him back, then set him down on the counter so he could face her and kick his bare feet against the cabinets.

From up there, he saw the massacre of counter space she’d used to make the pie, flour and little pieces of dough, and even some leftover pecans scattered about, along with spoons and spatulas and bowls and cups and all sorts of kitchen things. He marveled at them all, at the room all around them and how domestic it was. A house, his house, where he had a family, a home they would live in for a long time, so long as nothing happened to the people of his household.

“Uh-oh, you’ve got flour all over your PJs,” Mary announced, and Dean looked down at himself for the first time. He was wearing red, flannel PJs with fire trucks and Dalmatians on them. Yep, he was that cool, he remembered that. He saw flour handprints from where Mary had touched him along the red fabric, and he grinned up at her, making her laugh, which in turn made laughter bubble up and erupt from Dean’s mouth. He actually felt warmth and joy spinning around inside of his little chest, and he savored that for all it was worth.

Eventually when Mary was done in the kitchen, sneaking Dean a taste or two of her fantastic pie, she picked Dean up from the counter and walked him back up the stairs, moving a lot faster than Dean would have if he’d been the one traveling up those stairs himself. They went by Dean’s room and popped into Sammy’s, seeing John sitting on the rocking chair in the corner with the baby in his arms, fussing and whimpering and gurgling like a real baby as John sung a rock song, one of Dean’s favorites, like a lullaby.

“Aren’t they so cute, Dean?” Mary whispered, and Dean nodded, clutching onto her apron as he stared at the scene. Before he was done looking, Mary turned from the room and went to Dean’s, shutting the door behind her. “Let’s get some clothes so you can be ready for your day,” she announced, placing Dean on the bed and rummaging through the drawers of his dresser, pulling out pants and shirts and socks that weren’t thrown about the room.

Dean wanted to get down off the bed and go back through the door to continue staring at John acting like a father with Sammy, _Sammy_! But he was only part way off the bed, rolled over onto his stomach with his arms stretched out on the sheets and his feet kicking as he was trying to find the floor when Mary laughed and pulled him back up onto the bed, starting to pull his shirt off.

That was crossing a line, though. He might have been 4 at the moment, but he’d spent the last hundred-thousand years of his life _dressing himself_ , thank you very much, so he swatted clumsily at his mother’s hands and said, “I can do it.”

Mary seemed more than willing to let Dean have a go, but wasn’t making motions about leaving, so Dean resigned himself, pushing himself off the bed and this time making it to the floor. He grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it up over his head, like he’d done thousands of times, only this time, his arms were short and the fabric was long, and he only got it half way up, covering his face entirely, before it got stuck. He struggled, arms getting tangled, and tried to get the shirt over his face, but couldn’t figure out what was wrong. He stumbled and tripped over a toy, landing hard on his ass with his arms still in the air, face covered by shirt, and he huffed angrily for a second, fully intending on working through the problem, but then Mary tugged the shirt off Dean’s face and arms with ease.

“Very good, Dean. You’re just like a big boy,” she said, her voice sounding legitimately amazed, and Dean had no choice but to flush in slightly embarrassed pride at her compliment. He reached for the shirt beside her on the bed and when she handed it to him, he started putting it on himself, being a lot more careful and meticulous as he kept in mind his smaller, younger body. The shirt took some doing to get on over his stupid, big head, but he managed without Mary’s help, even got one arm through a sleeve before he got stuck again. This time, he turned to her with a pout and she laughed as she helped him guide his other arm through the hole.

Getting dressed the rest of the way was much the same. Dean stumbled while kicking the clingy flannel off his feet, his mother catching him. He found he was wearing little baby briefs with pictures on them, which irritated him a little, but he recognized that race cars on his briefs were more functional than a 4 year old wearing boxers. As he pulled his day pants on, they got caught on something and Dean ended up falling backwards and landing on a toy, yelping in surprised pain, but so used to pain that he didn’t even think to cry, even as Mary gasped and pulled him frantically closer, checking for blood under his shirt and kissing his boo-boo to make it better. She did seem to notice that Dean didn’t cry, but she made no comment as he determinedly pulled his pants on the rest of the way, moving onto his socks with relief that the ordeal of clothing himself was finally coming to an end.

Okay, so, maybe he would let her put his clothes on for a little while in the future, just so it went by faster than this had taken. He figured she would be able to change his clothes in less than half an hour being an experienced mother used to clothing her baby boy. And besides, little boys grew, so eventually, he’d be back to good ol’ clothes-changing hijinks alone. Or with someone not his mother or father.

For some reason, that thought reminded him of Cas. Probably because Cas would have been equally bad as 4-year-old Dean at changing clothes than any other reason, since Cas had nothing to do with Dean’s parents or future clothes-changing partners. But Cas had been in the circle with them when all this happened. Dean wondered if Cas had also gone back, or if he was stuck in the future because he was an angel. There was no way to know whether or not the ritual would have affected Cas without asking the angel directly. However, Dean wasn’t alone, and he couldn’t have a random angel appear out of thin air.

“Got to go p-potty,” Dean said, stumbling over the word “piss” that probably wouldn’t have been appropriate coming from his young mouth. Not that it wasn’t completely humiliating saying the word “potty.”

“Okay, sweetie,” Mary said, rummaging in Dean’s closet for some shoes. “I’ll be there with you in just a moment.”

Even more embarrassed, Dean shook his head, sending his longer hair flying wildly. “I can go myself,” he insisted, reaching up for the door and twisting it open with some difficulty, trying to rush to the bathroom before Mary could join him so he could lock the door behind himself. Was he really at an age where he couldn’t even go to the bathroom by himself?

The door shut behind him and he was blissfully alone. He took a moment to look at the bathroom, messy with a lived-in quality, the towels on the rack were rumpled, the rug in front of the tub askew. There were three toothbrushes by the sink, one of which was in the shape of a lion, and Dean actually recognized it as his own.

For a moment, he chewed on his lower lip, staring at the toilet and debating whether or not his bladder was more important than Cas, but then he reasoned that there wasn’t too big of an emergency just yet, and his baby bladder could only hold so much, so he resolved to actually use the toilet before praying.

Refusing to sit down, Dean dragged the stool in front of the sink over to the toilet and stood up on it, trying not to grumble or think about his future body in comparison to this measly kid’s body, relieving himself while trying not to fall off the stool. He was thankfully successful, and flushed before moving the stool back to the sink to wash his hands, more out of habit than burning hygienic need.

There was a knock on the door, and Mary’s gentle voice called, “Are you washing your hands in there, kiddo?”

“Yes,” Dean replied, turning the water on and reaching for the bar of soap. Mary laughed lightly as she walked away, a sound that touched something deep inside Dean’s heart, and he sighed, staring down at his hands because he was afraid to look at himself in the mirror. While rinsing his hands off, he tentatively called out, “Cas?” He looked around the bathroom, expecting the bed-haired, blue-eyed Jimmy Novak to appear somewhere in the small room wearing his suit and trench coat. After a few seconds of nothing, Dean realized that if they were in the past, Jimmy Novak was probably just a kid now, too. Cas might not even have a vessel at all, but maybe if he tried calling again, Cas could find one. “Cas, buddy?” he asked, ignoring how strange it was to talk like himself while being so young. “If you’re out there and you know who I am, can you come down here for a sec?” He left his dripping hands hover over the sink, looking around him, but nothing happened. Nothing happened, no angel appeared, no disembodied voices coming out of the walls, nothing.

To be honest, Dean was actually hurt. It was irrational, and he knew that, knew there was a chance Cas wouldn’t come to him, but his chest still tightened and his eyes started burning all the same. And then that hurt turned to anger really quickly. Without drying his hands, Dean jumped off the stool and unlocked the door, rushing through the hall to find Mary standing in Sammy’s doorway and talking to John. Dean buried his face into her legs, seeking comfort there which he instantly got when her hand automatically reached down and touched his head.

“Hey, kiddo,” Mary said with a smile, looking down to Dean. “Ready to go to the zoo?” Dean just pressed his face into Mary’s legs, feeling his angry, burning eyes traitorously leak onto her pants. “Oh, Dean,” she said, quickly kneeling beside him and enveloping him in her arms. Almost instantly, the tears stopped, but the anger and the hurt went nowhere but deeper inside Dean. “What’s the matter, baby?” she asked, pulling back so she could wipe away Dean’s tears.

Instead of answering, Dean shook his head. He couldn’t have answered if he’d wanted to, the explanation of “My angel didn’t come when I called” reaching heights that even a mother would probably think her child was crazy. Or delusional. Or maybe just imaginative. And Dean couldn’t handle the thought that Castiel wasn’t even real, in any form. He was just going to be mad that Cas hadn’t come, blame Cas for actively ignoring Dean because the alternatives were too intense for Dean to consider.

“Sammy’s squirming big time,” John stated, his voice full of a gentleness Dean didn’t think the man that had raised him on the hunt had the capacity to portray. But, of course, this was before Mary’s, er, Sammy’s, well, the unfortunate visit from an unfriendly demon. “Do you want to see your big brother, Sammy?”

Dean turned his head in the direction of the man on the rocking chair, seeing little infant hands reaching blindly towards the door, even though Sammy’s face was out of sight. Without hesitating, the sight of a fussing Baby Sammy poking the fires of Dean’s internal mother instincts, Dean walked over to them. John lowered Sam to his lap, allowing Dean to peer into Sam’s face.

Those large green eyes looked directly into Dean’s face, still confused and slightly annoyed now. “Sorry, Sammy,” Dean murmured, gently rubbing his fingertips along Sam’s forehead above his eyebrows, the place that always soothed Sam when he was an upset little baby. Almost instantly, Sam relaxed to the touch, arms dropping to his body and eyes blinking closed sleepily. Helplessly trapped in a baby’s body, Dean realized, Sam must be going mad.

He had to talk to him, well, talk at him, alone. Maybe they would be able to work out what was going on together, somehow come up with some kind of solution. Although, looking down at Sammy’s chubby face while stroking his forehead, Dean didn’t know if Sammy would even be able to help much.

“Wow, Dean,” John whispered as Sam fell asleep in his arms to his brother’s soothing touch. “Where did you learn to do that?”

Surprised, Dean turned blinking eyes up to John, then to Mary staring in wonder from the doorway. “Um, do what?” he asked, trying his hardest to sound innocent. The kid voice definitely helped, and the two adults just laughed.

* * *

Praying at the Zoo

John and Mary packed Dean and Sam into the car, along with activities and snacks to fill the day. The zoo was not exactly the place Dean wanted to go to the most just then, but he figured, being out of the house meant no demons burning Mary to death, and the zoo could offer an opportunity for Dean to get in some words towards Sam without prying parent ears listening in.

To say that Dean’s child seat was comfortable would have been a lie, but it did boost him up so he could look down into Sammy’s baby seat. Dean was also thoroughly happy to be inside of the Impala again, even if Baby was younger and less familiar, and he was in the backseat instead of the driver’s. Still, his seat was close enough to Sam’s that Dean could reach over and take Sammy’s hand, a gesture that, as adults, would normally make them both uncomfortable beyond anything, but as kids, was generally comforting.

On long car rides the first time they were kids, Dean always held Sam’s hand until it got too awkward to continue. It helped them both out, Dean knowing Sammy was there and safe, and Sammy knowing Dean was there to keep him safe. That was always their relationship as brothers, Dean’s disturbing protectiveness cultivated from this young age. He looked down at Sam, whose green eyes were gazing up at him questioningly. Dean mouthed the word “later” and could have sworn he saw Sam give a nod, though he didn’t think babies had that much control over their own bodies, trying to figure out how to move and all that.

The zoo itself wasn’t too busy for the wonderful spring day, enough people milling around that the Winchester family blended in perfectly. Dean hung on tight to Sammy’s stroller as John pushed it, Mary looking at a map and trying to decide where to go next. They’d already seen the polar bears and otters, and were heading in the direction of the tigers and snakes according to the signs Dean could see that he probably wasn’t supposed to be able to read yet.

To be fair to the zoo itself, Dean was more amazed by the animals than he wanted to be, something about huge, hulking polar bears standing in front of the glass and ignoring the people gaping on the other side had Dean gaping along with the rest of them, even pressing his face up against the glass with a few other kids to get a closer look at the coarse white fur and peeking at the hint of black skin he knew was under all that fur.

But Dean felt an urgency to talk to Sam. It was like a pressure in his back pushing him towards his squirmy baby brother who was making sounds almost like words. Dean was trying to listen to him, figure out if Sam was actually trying to talk, or if the baby babble was something Sam couldn’t help. So far, it seemed like utter and complete nonsense, and Mary liked to pick Dean up at each exhibit to show off the animals, and Dean liked to be held by his mother a whole lot more than he thought he should have, especially for his age. His real age, anyway.

Unfortunately for Dean, John and Mary were really good parents together and they never left Dean and Sam alone once. Dean would have been upset if it wasn’t for the fact that it felt amazing to have a full, real family, John actually putting in effort to be a good father. Dean just hoped it would be able to continue, because he didn’t think he would be able to handle losing Mary twice, watching his father deteriorate, and be forced to raise Sammy all over again.

“Cas.” The name made Dean stiffen, and he looked over the edge of the stroller down to Sammy’s face, where the name had come from. “Cas-eh,” Sam said again, looking quite determined for having a body so brand new it could barely function. His little hands pumped in the air, and Dean realized he was looking up at the cloudless sky above them, chanting, “Cas, Cas, Cas-eh,” over and over again.

Feeling a little frustrated and nervous, Dean reached into the stroller and brushed Sam’s forehead, trying to get him to shut up. Sam, though, actually managed to shove Dean’s hand away, causing Dean to fall back, John catching him by the arm before he fell.

“Uh-oh,” John said lightly. “Watch your step, Dean-o.”

“Is Sammy trying to say something?” Mary asked suddenly, leaning over the stroller to hear Sam’s words.

Dean felt a chill fall over his body and he grappled with John’s hand, “No!” he exclaimed, trying to sound light and excited. “Let’s go see the birds!” There was a nearby exhibit full of exotic birds that Dean hoped would be making sounds louder than Sam.

“Are you looking for clouds, sweetie?” Mary asked, putting a finger in Sam’s small fist and grinning when he automatically closed his tiny fingers around hers. “There are no clouds today.” Sam whined, but to Dean’s relief, stopped calling for Cas. “The birds are a good idea, Dean. I believe they’re very pretty, too. Do you want to see the pretty birds, Sammy?”

Dean’s pounding heart left him warm and uncomfortable, but Dean allowed John to lead him towards the enclosed exhibit. He slowly calmed down as Mary pulled Sam out of the stroller and John parked it so they could go inside the crowded hut. Dean watched as Mary held Sammy close, their faces together, and Sam looked absolutely delighted at the contact, though Mary thought it was the sights and sounds that were doing it.

Things were calming down inside of Dean’s head when he spotted a pair of eyes that were overwhelmingly familiar, but not in any way he recognized. In a moment, they were gone, blocked from Dean’s sight by other park-visitors, and when the path cleared, Dean couldn’t see where the eyes or the face they were set in had disappeared to. Much to Dean’s utter surprise, his heart suddenly pounding rapidly again, they had been on Dean’s level, like, height level, and set into a pale-yet-red face, dark messy hair on top, and plain gray t-shirt and blue jeans making up the kid’s outfit. The eyes, though, they’d been such a breathtaking blue, Dean was reminded of Cas’ older vessel, but they weren’t the same eyes. They weren’t the deep ocean blues that stared intensely, they were a grey-blue, icy only in color but which filled Dean up from toes to head with warmth that Dean thought for a moment after he lost sight of them that he was going to pass out.

John noticed him sway and instantly pulled Dean up into his arms. “You okay, Dean-o?”

“Mhm,” Dean hummed, letting himself sag into his father’s arms.

“Here, I’ve got some water for you,” Mary said, reaching into the bag she had on her shoulder while carefully balancing Sam in her other. In a moment, Dean was sucking down the cold water, feeling a little better and a little more wary. “I think we should stop for lunch after,” Mary said, pointing to a bird that flew nearby and looking down at Sammy’s face.

But Sam was looking at Dean, eyes wide as Mary bounced him a little. “Cas-eh,” he said simply. Dean shook his head, clutching the water bottle that was too big for his hands before John took it from him.

* * *

The Zoo Has More Than Just Animals

They were eating lunches that Mary had packed for them at some park benches near the gorillas. Dean was stuffing his face with a ham-and-cheese while watching the gorillas pick on each other cruelly, clearly unhappy to be living with each other in such a confined space. He wanted to make a snide comment about how the female gorillas should dump those loser silverbacks and just run away, but knew better than to try.

Instead, he just watched them while sitting next to Sammy in the stroller. Mary had gone off to find a bathroom and John was looking at the park map. They were finally alone together, but now Dean had no idea what to say.

Sammy looked at Dean, watching as the 4 year old chomped on the sandwich like he would have if he was at a diner eating a burger. And not mini-sized. Sam’s hands were resting on his little lap, fingers stretching and relaxing slightly together, almost like he was trying to steeple his fingers in front of him, but lacking the coordination to do so.

“Look, Sammy,” Dean started around his mouthful, but it was too hard to talk with his mouth so stuffed, so he forced himself to swallow. He leaned in closer to Sam when John tilted his head towards them, but soon he was refocused on the map and Dean’s mouth was cleared. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t think Cas can come help us, so stop callin’ for him. You’re going to freak Mary and J—Mom and Dad out.”

Little Baby Sammy huffed in irritation, and Dean swore up and down the entire state of Kansas that Sammy was pulling off his patented Bitch-Face. “Cas,” Sam stated, and then cooed like a normal baby, hands moving up and down in his lap. He even kicked out his little feet and Dean’s heart melted at the sight. It was so fucking adorable, Dean could barely stand it. “Cas-eh,” Sam repeated, kicking his feet and pumping his arms harder, like he was trying to do something. Dean looked up and down Sammy’s body, trying to figure it out when a shadow caught his eye and he turned his head to see that kid from before standing _right there_ in front of Sammy’s stroller, looking at Dean with a blank face.

Dean nearly jumped and screamed, but years of Cas’ untimely and unannounced appearances had actually trained him not to.

“Cas-eh, Cas-eh, Cas-eh!” Sam babbled, still kicking his feet and hands, now looking happily at the kid that couldn’t have been much older than Dean. The kid’s eyes turned from Dean to look down at Sam, and those grey-blue icicles softened into puddles of water.

“Cas?” Dean whispered, not even daring to hope. But then those eyes turned back to him and Dean could see endlessness hiding behind them, that intensely unnerving stare that only Dean’s angel could pull off so well. Dean jumped off the bench and threw his arms around Cas, making the other boy stumble. But still, his arms circled Dean’s neck and allowed Dean to cling like a desperate little child.

“Dean,” John said, his voice sounding confused and stern. “What are you doing?”

Dean stiffened as he held onto Cas, completely forgetting about his dad sitting right next to him. Cas just patted Dean’s sides, not making him let go until John was on them, pulling Dean off the strange kid that had appeared out of nowhere. “No, Dad,” Dean whined, reaching for Cas and feeling overwhelmed by the fact his father was just plain strong enough to pull him off without a chance of Dean fighting against it.

“It’s okay, Dean,” Cas said, his voice soft and sad.

“Hey, where are your parents?” John asked, whipping his head around the zoo in search of someone who either looked like this kid or was looking for him.

Cas tilted his head, looking up at John. Dean braced himself for the answer, fearing what was about to come out of Cas’ mouth. “My Father isn’t here,” he stated, his voice still soft, almost shy.

John frowned down at Cas. “What about your mother?”

“I don’t have a mother,” Cas informed John, and that probably wasn’t the best thing to say, because John’s eyes were widening and he was starting to look upset. He was taking a breath to ask more questions, probably needling questions about why Cas was even there, but Dean interrupted him.

“Didn’t I see your dad go,” he looked wildly around them, searching every place he could for some area that could legitimately hide an adult male somewhere. He spotted a small building that was selling overpriced snacks and drinks and souvenirs and pointed towards it. “There?” He looked at Cas, and when it seemed as though Cas was about to tell Dean that his Father would probably not be there at the snack bar at the moment, but Dean gave him a _look_ and Sam cried out “Cas-eh!”

“Oh, yes,” Cas said hesitantly, looking back at Dean with wide eyes. “My f-father is,” he looked at the snack area, gathering his thoughts for a second, “I think he said he was getting something to drink.” He turned back to John and added, “I saw Dean and told him I wanted to go say hi. He told me to wait here for him to come back.” The way Cas said all of it, the ease with which he straight-up lied to John like he was a normal human, such a contrast to the stiff way he acted when Cas was new to the whole interacting side of humanity, Dean felt joy bubble up in his stomach.

“Oh, okay,” John said, easing a little. He wasn’t yet a man who ran on suspicion, he had no reason to disbelieve a small, weird child that had appeared out of nowhere and somehow knew his son. “How do you know each other?”

“ _Dad_ ,” Dean whined, and John sighed and nodded his head. “Come on, Cas,” Dean said, reaching forward again and taking Cas’ wrist, a shock going through Dean as he touched Cas’ cool skin. “This is Sam.” He pulled Cas towards Sammy’s stroller, keeping his eye on his father as John rubbed the back of his neck in deliberation. More than once, Dean had seen John do the same every time he was looking at a mess he thought he had to address but wouldn’t, and that helped Dean relax again.

“Hello, Sam,” Cas said, that soft, shy voice reminding Dean so much of the deep, rough way Cas used to talk. Cas lifted a hand to tickle Sam’s foot, making the baby kick his feet and flap his arms like he was trying to fly, and that joy in Dean’s stomach made him giggle, which in turn made Cas turn and smile at Dean.

“Cas-eh,” Sam stated insistently, his little brows furrowing.

“Yes, we’ll try to figure this out,” Cas replied, letting Sam clamp down on his finger and shake it like he was shaking Sam’s hand.

“Do you know anything?” Dean asked quietly, keeping his voice low enough for Cas to hear, but not allowing John in on the conversation.

Taking the hint, Cas leaned in a little closer and spoke quietly. “We found ourselves in a ritual that sent our minds back into our younger bodies,” Cas said. Everything he said was everything Dean already knew, and Dean stomped his foot a little impatiently. “That’s all I was able to find out. I also had to worry about finding a vessel, Dean, you have to understand. Things are different now from the future. I had to enlist Gabriel’s help, and he found this,” he pointed to his own face, “for me.”

“Who is it? And why a kid?”

Cas gave Dean a _look_ , similar to the one Dean had given him before. “You’re a child now, Dean. It would have been unseemly for a full-grown man to be around you.”

“Okay, so who is it?”

Now, Cas looked sadly down at his feet. “Danny Williams. He was in a coma, no hope to wake up. His soul had left his body, Gabriel thought it was for the best, so that we may figure things out together and maybe return to our real time.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean said, reaching out and touching Cas’ forearm.

“Don’t be,” Cas said, lifting his head back up, showing that he had no sadness on his face. “It does not affect me. Danny is in heaven.”

Dean glanced over at John, who had remained standing with his arms crossed, avidly searching the crowd for Cas’ father to appear. “Okay, we have to meet up. What about this whole family business? I’m not old enough to go hang out with friends without parents present, and John and Mary don’t know anything. I can’t tell them or they’ll freak out.”

“Understood. Gabriel has already agreed to function as a stand-in father-figure. He should be on his way as we speak.”

“Wait, what?” Dean squeaked, and below them, Sammy giggled, clapping his hands together.

“Castiel,” a painfully familiar voice called out, and Cas turned away from Sam to face the equally familiar figure approaching them at a jog. He was laid back, wearing ugly red shorts and a pink shirt over a white t-shirt. He even had big, ugly sunglasses, and Dean couldn’t keep back the sneer that pulled at his face. “Oh, hey Dean, my boy. How’s it been?” Gabriel then turned to John and held out his hand. “You must be John Winchester,” he said.

Dean turned to lean over Sammy’s stroller and cursed silently and profusely.

“Sorry for taking so long, Honey,” Mary said suddenly walking back over to them and giving John a kiss on the cheek, wrapping her arm around his waist as she did so. She turned to look at Gabriel with a smile on her face. “The lines in the bathrooms are ridiculous.”

“Always are,” Gabriel quipped, and she and Gabriel laughed, while Dean reached out and grabbed Cas’ wrist and tried to crush it in his weak hands and John awkwardly shifted. “I’m Gabe Winston, by the way. The little tyke is mine. Thanks for watching him for me. Had to, you know,” and he lifted up a half-empty bottle of water and shook it to indicate what he’d busied himself with. Mary continued smiling, having no clue what was going on, but John just grunted, probably disturbed by the wonderful parenting being displayed. “So it looks like our kids are holding hands now, that progressed quickly,” Gabriel pointed out with a big grin on his face.

John and Mary both turned to look down at Cas and Dean, Cas looking up at them blankly and Dean blushing furiously, hiding his offending hand behind his back and staring pointedly in a different direction from his parents.

“What’s your son’s name?” Mary asked, turning back to Gabriel.

“Castiel,” Gabriel replied. “I don’t really know what his father was thinking, but phew,” he commented, rolling his eyes with another easy laugh. “Tough for a kid to say. I mostly just call him Cas.”

“You’re not his father?” John asked, immediately suspicious again, and Cas turned to look at John with large eyes.

“Oh, no,” Gabriel denied immediately. “Good Lord, no. I’m not that old,” he added with another laugh that he cut off quickly with throat-clearing cough. “I’m his guardian, though,” he stated, with a nod, winking down at Cas and Dean. “I make sure he meets all of his appointments.”

That was enough for Dean, he couldn’t take it any longer, so he grabbed Cas’ shoulder and pulled him away from the adults, just to the other side of the table so they could sit and face the other direction and continue the conversation they’d been having without… Gabe Winston.

“I don’t like this,” Dean grumbled, missing his deeper voice and the way he could really make it sound gravelly with his displeasure. Or his pleasure.

“I understand, Dean,” Cas commented. He started kicking his foot out casually, and they were sitting close enough together that it brushed against Dean’s leg, catching their shoes together and making his leg move a little with the force.

“What are we going to do?” Dean asked quietly, looking down at their legs.

“We must locate the other man that was in the center of the circle of that ritual,” Cas began, reaching up to his hair and curling a dark lock around his finger over and over again, drawing Dean’s attention up to that. “He surely came back for a reason, and most likely that reason is not pleasant. We’ll have to stop him, if we can, and from there, try to figure out if or how we can go back.”

“What do you mean ‘if’? There should be no ‘if,’ I can’t go through puberty again, Cas!” Dean struggled to keep his voice low, but he felt the rising panic. Thankfully, it wasn’t fearful panic, so he wasn’t going to start bawling all over again, but still. “And then there’s the whole Y.E.D. thing that I refuse to go through again.”

“There’s no rules about time travelling rituals, Dean. You can change things. I have.” That made sense, and it did make Dean feel better about being stuck, like, really stuck. He watched as Cas twisted on the seat and reached into the pocket of his jean shorts, pulling out a generic bag of gummies before settling back down again. He opened the bag and offered it to Dean, who just stared blankly at his angel.

“What the fu-udge are you doing, Cas?” Dean asked.

“Offering you a sweet yet nutritious snack,” the angel replied, turning the bag to himself and grabbing a gummy out before popping it into his mouth. “They’re delicious.”

With a heavy sigh, Dean shook his head and reached for the bag, unable to resist pleasing his sweet tooth.

* * *

Domestic Family Downtime

They couldn’t do anything with John and Mary around. Well, really, they couldn’t do anything as kids, but John and Mary made it all the harder because they were good parents. At the zoo, Cas followed Dean around for a little while longer. They went to go look at the camels and the elephants, Cas telling Dean secrets about the animals that Dean couldn’t help but find entertaining.

But eventually, they had to split up. After a day of excitement at the zoo, Dean was exhausted, and he didn’t have a stroller to fall asleep in. Cas noticed Dean’s eyes starting to droop and had to keep him from stumbling by holding onto his arm. John also seemed to notice, because he got down on his knees beside Dean and looked him in the face.

“Dean-o, you tired?” John asked as Dean rubbed one of his eyes with a closed fist.

“No,” Dean protested, turning towards Cas but saw the gentle smile on Cas’ face and knew he wouldn’t be saved by his angel this time.

“Come here, big man,” John muttered, scooping Dean up in his strong arms, and Dean had no choice but to go.

He didn’t want to leave Cas, though, knowing they still had a lot of work to be done, and he reached out for him. “No, Cas,” he whined, kicking his feet unhappily.

“We’ll see each other again, Dean,” Cas stated, reaching up to take hold of Dean’s ankle to keep him from kicking. Dean just sighed unhappily, and found that he literally couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer.

The next time he woke up, he was being transferred from John’s arms to his bed at home. It was only the early afternoon, but Dean’s body was so weak compared to his adult form. He knew he’d pushed it and he didn’t want to hurt himself, so he curled up on his side, listened as John turned out the light and shut the door, and sighed himself back to sleep.

A few hours later, he woke up to his mother combing his hair gently with her fingers. It was a bizarre feeling, comfortable yet soothing, and he whined a little when she stopped.

“Come on, Dean, it’s time for dinner,” Mary stated, a laugh in her voice, and Dean sat up in bed. His mother laughed outright at him as he blinked sleepily, glaring at her for interrupting his nice dream about riding on the highway in Baby with Sam next to him and Cas in the back seat, but he got out of bed for her. She flattened his bed head as he walked ahead of her, and he didn’t try to stop her. At the top of the stairs, Dean hesitated, not wanting to do the step-by-step walk, so he turned to her and lifted his arms.

It sure was nice not to have to do everything on his own.

The table was set with three paper plates, and John was just placing down cooked burgers. Now, _this_ was the _life_. “Yay!” Dean exclaimed as Mary put him down at the bottom of the stairs and he ran over to the table. He climbed up onto a chair and knelt so he would be high enough to reach the table. “Burgers, now!” he demanded dramatically, lifting his hands in the air like he was telling Cas to come help him.

“Now, you have to wait a moment, Dean-o,” John stated, going over to the baby carrier that seemed to be where John and Mary preferred to store Sam between holding him and rides in the stroller. He pulled baby Sammy out and rocked him, Sam gurgling cutely at his father, and probably insulting him in some way because he looked really amused.

Mary went rummaging in the fridge, pulling out sliced tomatoes and ketchup and mustard and all the fixin’s, and Dean couldn’t imagine a better place to be than in that moment, still a little exhausted from his exciting day, surrounded by happy family, eating delicious food.

It did occur to him that Cas’ presence at the table might have topped off his day, but he didn’t hope for it because too many good things would have meant it wasn’t real.

The burger he had was, in fact, heart-meltingly delicious. Dean tried his hardest to eat as much as he could, but his little stomach couldn’t take it all, which upset him quite a bit. Still, he enjoyed what he could, and even gave Sam little mocking looks every time he took a bite as the baby was sucking on a bottle. Sam didn’t have much control over himself, but he had the faculty enough to give Dean the finger, a gesture that went unnoticed by Mary and John, probably because they didn’t think a baby would be able to do that with intention.

Still, Dean couldn’t help but think there was something huge missing without Cas being there with them. When he couldn’t eat the last quarter of his burger, he leaned back in his chair and wiped his lips with the back of his hand, still chewing on the bits left in his mouth.

“Can I see Cas soon?” Dean asked as annoyingly as he could. He knew Mary had gotten contact information from Gabriel so that Cas and Dean could see each other again, like a good mother looking after her son and making sure he had friends. It was exactly what Dean and Cas had wanted, given permission to spend time together, mostly so Dean wouldn’t be stuck alone in his room at night, talking to himself so that every time his parents heard, they’d come in and check on him and then he’d have to explain to them that he was just discussing the laws of dimensional mind travel with his good ol’ imaginary friend, the Angel.

“Sure, sweetie,” Mary said, rising from her seat and starting to clear the table while John was still focused on feeding Sam and eating the rest of his burger with one hand. As she took Dean’s plate, John swiped the rest of Dean’s burger with a grin.

“Can I see Cas now?” Dean tried.

Mary laughed, high and sweet. “No, darling, I’m sure he and his dad are busy. We have to ask beforehand.”

“Then can I see Cas tomorrow?” Dean pressed, hoping that the answer would be yes.

“We’ll see,” Mary answered, sounding more like she was humoring him than contemplating a visit to Cas in her plans for tomorrow. “Mr. Winston did say they lived just outside of Lawrence.”

“Yay!” Dean cheered enthusiastically, kicking his feet and throwing his hands up in the air, like her answer had been yes.

Mary just laughed, and John rolled his eyes. “Kids,” he muttered under his breath and around his mouthful of Dean’s burger.

* * *

Someone’s Definition of a Date

In fact, Mary did call Gabriel and set up a play date for Dean and Cas for the next day. Dean cheered when she woke him up in the morning and told him he’d better get ready for it or else he wouldn’t be ready to go.

She helped him pack up his favorite toys, Dean barely remembering which were his favorites and which he wasn’t supposed to care about anymore, but any contradictory remarks he made, Mary seemed to laugh off as Dean’s excitement to see Cas. Mary even packed Sam into the car, giving Dean a snack to occupy him for the short car ride over to wherever Cas and Gabe Winston were supposedly living.

As they were pulling up in the driveway of a quaint little house in an isolated cul-de-sac on the very outskirts of Lawrence, Dean leaned over Sammy and whispered, “We’ll try to figure things out. I’ll tell you about it when I come back.” Sam nodded once, clutching a little teddy bear to his chest and squirming a little in his seat. “I know, I wish you could come with us, but I barely trust Gabriel with myself, let alone you. At least I might be able to run away.”

Mary opened Dean’s door then, and asked, “What are you saying to your little brother, Dean?” She didn’t sound accusatory, so Dean just straightened in his seat and beamed up at her.

“I’m telling him he’s a gross little snot,” he stated, and Mary’s eyes widened a little in shock, then she sighed and shook her head.

“I’m going to have a word with your father about what he says around you boys,” she said, more to herself as she helped Dean out of the car, then reached in to scoop Sammy up for the new boy-delivery service she was starting up.

Dean ran to the front door as fast as his feet could take him, Mary laughing at his antics. Rapping his small knuckles on the door, Dean noticed a slight waviness to the vision of the house, recognizing Gabriel’s old illusions and was instantly suspicious.

Before he could say or do anything, however, the door was opening and Cas was looking directly at him, his expression blank. “Help me,” he said simply, and Dean gasped, reaching out to grab Cas’ shoulders and pull him out of the house. But Mary was blocking Dean in and Gabriel appeared with a grin behind Cas.

“Mary, hello. With Sam” Gabriel said, then he looked down. “Dean, you’re touching Cas, what a surprise.”

Blushing, Dean immediately let go of Cas and fell back into his mother’s legs. Cas just blinked at him and reached out, grabbing Dean’s wrist and pulling him into the house, away from the “adults.” Mary laughed charmingly and adjusted Sam in her arms.

“They’re really adorable,” Mary was saying, and Gabriel chuckled, leaning against the door.

“Aren’t they just?” Dean heard him reply, but Cas was pulling him away from the door, through the house and into a library full of old, dusty books.

“We’d better get to researching,” Cas stated, letting go of Dean’s hand and crawling up onto a book-covered couch to grab the nearest book. “I had Gabriel copy these books from Bobby’s library, and a few other good places. They’re not permanent, and they can fade with Gabriel’s whimsy.”

“You left my mother and my baby brother out there with that bastard,” Dean grumbled, trying to peek his head out the door and examine the two interacting. “I don’t like it.”

“My brother will not harm your family, Dean,” Cas tried to assure him, but Dean still growled, sounding like a disgruntled kitten.

“It’s not ‘harm’ I’m worried about,” he muttered, but turned from the door and joined Cas on the couch, nearly falling off when his knee slipped, but Cas reached out and grabbed the back of Dean’s shirt, hauling him all the way onto the couch. “Thanks,” he said, heat born from embarrassment rising to his cheeks. He twisted so he could sit properly, and grabbed another book. “What are we looking for again?”

“Anything that could help,” Cas stated without moving his head from the large book in his lap.

Dean sighed heavily, already missing Sam and his dork brain. “Right, anything,” he repeated, trying to fight off a sneeze from the dust of the book he’d just opened.

Gabriel didn’t even bother helping them, but he did walk into the room and throw himself down on a chaise. “You are two of the most boring toddlers I’ve ever seen.”

“Not now, Gabriel,” Cas said at the same time Dean muttered, “Shut the fuck up, dickbag,” his brow furrowed in deep concentration as he read through page after page of useless information. The effect wasn’t quite as sharp with his young, sweet child’s tenor, but he was too distracted to be bothered by that personally.

The trickster snorted and turned away from the boys, finding something else to do that wasn’t helpful to their research, but did thankfully keep him out of their hair.

Research was long and boring, and more than once, Dean found himself waking up without having noticed going to sleep. More often than not, he woke up when Cas was exchanging books, the movement making his head slip off the comfortable pillow of Cas’ shoulder. Cas didn’t say anything to him about it, until the fourth time Dean woke up, a line of drool going from his mouth down Cas’ arm.

“I think you should have lunch, Dean,” Cas stated casually. “You need to stay fed and energized.”

“ _You_ need to stay fed and energized,” Dean repeated petulantly, rubbing the drool from the corner of his mouth and then moving his hands up to rub at his eyes. While he was blind, the heavy book disappeared from his lap and a rush of cold air flooded the spot. He dropped his hands and saw Cas hopping off the seat beside him, replacing his spot with Dean’s book, and then grabbing Dean’s hand to pull him off the couch, too.

“Don’t burn the house down,” Gabriel commented as Cas dragged Dean past him, and Dean couldn’t stop his tongue from sticking out at the irritating sonuva bitch as he went by.

Cas pulled Dean into a kitchen and then pushed him in the direction of a chair. “Sit,” he ordered, opening up a cabinet that was just below his eye level and pulling out a pan.

“What, you’re going to cook?” Dean asked, slightly disbelieving. He still climbed up onto the chair, though, settling back against it with his feet sticking out in front of him.

“Yes, Dean. Despite your disbelief, I am capable of basic chemistry,” he commented, setting the pan on the stove above his head and turning the burner on. He then walked towards the fridge and opened it, shifting his entire weight to get the door to move. “I have cooked for you before, if you would recall,” he commented, grabbing some butter and cheese slices before kicking the door shut and moving back to the stove.

“Well, yeah, I know that,” Dean commented, holding on tight to the edge of his chair as he watched the young boy moving about the kitchen with an ease he shouldn’t possess. “I’m just worried, is all.”

“I am confident that my grilled cheese will taste fine,” Cas stated, reaching up to the counter by the stove to place the cheese and butter there, then moving to a chair at the table Dean was sitting beside and dragging it over to the stove.

“Right, no, I believe that,” Dean said, watching Cas climb up onto the chair with wide eyes. “It’s you I’m worried about.”

“I will be fine,” Cas assured him and then went about the process of making Dean a grilled cheese sandwich without any problems, serious injuries, or disturbances from Gabriel. Dean only got up once, asking Cas where the glasses were, then dragging his own chair to the counter to crawl up onto it and grab a glass down. After a thought, he also grabbed down a plate and stuck it beside the stove, then got himself some water from the sink, sipping on it carefully to check for any weird flavors.

“Why a grilled cheese?” Dean finally asked, accidentally staring at Cas’ ass for a little too long, making himself uncomfortable when he realized he was doing it. He cleared his throat and took another sip of water.

“Because it’s easy for your younger stomach to digest a grilled cheese sandwich than a steak cooked medium-rare,” Cas answered, grabbing the plate and picking up the pan to slide the sandwich onto it.

“You would have made me a steak?” Dean asked, pressing a hand over his chest and making himself sound touched, then laughing when Cas sent him a harmless glare. The angel flicked off the stove, hopped down from the chair and dumped the pan in the sink. He then went to the fridge and pulled out a bag of baby carrots, bringing them and the plate of sandwich to the table. “You have to sit with me and keep me company, too, Cas,” Dean said, when it looked like Cas was about to walk back to the library.

Cas studied Dean’s face, even when Dean reached out and snagged a baby carrot, chomping into it and trying not to remind himself it was just that easy to bite a person’s finger off. Then without saying anything, Cas want back to the chair and crawled onto it, turning to face Dean.

“So, how do you like life as a kid?” Dean asked conversationally, taking a bite from the grilled cheese.

“It has its ups and downs,” he replied, tapping his short fingers on the wooden surface of the table. “Adults don’t take me seriously, but I can get away with things with fewer questions asked.

“Since when did anyone take you seriously?” Dean asked around a mouthful of food, and then blinked rapidly when he realized how that had sounded. “I mean, not, you know, not us. We took you seriously, I just meant—”

“I know what you meant,” Cas interrupted, smiling slightly but looking intently down at his tapping fingers. “What about you? It must be disorienting being a child again.”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean grumbled, stuffing another carrot in his mouth. He took a moment to swallow because he didn’t feel like choking just then, then continued, “I can barely get away with doing things on my own, and I’m pretty sure I physically hurt when I’m in Baby and can’t even drive her. But, it’s nice getting to see my mom.”

Cas nodded earnestly, making Dean smile a little in a mixture of embarrassment and genuine emotion. “Your mother is a very beautiful person,” Cas commented. Dean appreciated that coming from Cas, knowing Cas meant his mother’s soul, not just her outer shell.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, stuffing his mouth again so he wouldn’t say something else to embarrass himself, even if it was just Cas there with him.

* * *

Real 80s Nostalgia

They spent several more hours on useless research, finding no results. The second round had found Dean more awake and aware, but at the same time, he could barely look at a book without a headache forming.

So instead, he allowed Gabriel to rope him into a game of checkers, a game that Dean refused to agree to without having Cas make Gabriel swear he had no tricks up his sleeves, that there were no rules or stakes Dean wasn’t aware of, and then Dean never won a single game.

Overall, the “play date” was rather uninformative and frustrating, so when Mary came to pick Dean up again, Dean wasn’t too upset with leaving. Before he walked out the door, Dean pulled Cas into a quick hug, thanking him for the help and the lunch and the entertainment without needing to say a word, and Cas hugged him back in acknowledgement of all of that and more, his arms comforting the frayed edges of Dean’s adult soul stuck in a child’s body.

Dean was glad to see Sammy, too, check that he was okay, no demons with yellow eyes coming for visits while Dean was away. The little baby was holding onto a plastic ring and blinked bored, red-rimmed eyes at Dean when the big brother leaned his head over Sam’s baby car carrier strapped in tight.

“Sorry, Sammy,” Dean whispered, reaching into the carrier to rub across Sam’s forehead and almost instantly lulling him to sleep.

“That is really amazing, Dean,” Mary said, watching him do that from the front seat as she clicked her seatbelt in place. “You’re such a good big brother.”

Dean looked at her, watching as she went about reversing the Impala out of the driveway of Gabe’s illusionary house. Her statement resonated in him, justifying basically his entire, Sammy-devoted life and she had no idea the things he’d done for Sammy. The things he would still do. And maybe the things he could still prevent from ever happening. Unconsciously, Dean reached his hand out and rested it on the side of Sammy’s carrier for the rest of the trip home.

Mary asked him all kinds of questions about his time at the Winston’s home. If he had fun, and what he had for lunch, and what he and Cas did the whole time. Dean lied, he was good at lying, and even better now that he was a kid and the expectation of blatant honesty had his back, but he lied close to the truth.

He told her that he and Cas looked at some of Cas’ old books about angels and time travel, that Cas wanted him to try his grilled cheese sandwich, and that he fell asleep a couple times before Gabe had invited him to play board games.

Nodding vigorously from the front seat, Mary humored him with ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs,’ and Dean wouldn’t have been remotely surprised if thoughts of how damn boring that sounded went through her mind. But she was clearly content that he had a good time and hadn’t been severely injured. And Dean realized he, too, was content with his day. It had basically been like a good-old-day, Dean could act like himself and joke around and tease Cas, cuss up a storm like a 30-something-year-old bachelor, moan about the past to Cas and get comprehensive responses back.

Dean sank back into his booster seat and sighed, looking out at the sky beyond the Impala’s window. Sure, they hadn’t been able to determine anything useful, but Dean had been able to hang out with one of his best friends. The part of him that was horrified he’d been trapped in a child’s body, chapped and raw, hunched down to fit inside, was soothed by Cas’ solid presence, radiating power that meant things could get done, meant he and Sammy weren’t all alone. Cas had their backs, had Dean’s back, and that day reminded Dean of that fact.

“Why are you smiling, baby?” Mary asked as they stopped at a stop sign close to their house. Dean looked up at her and saw her green eyes reflected back in the rearview mirror.

“No reason,” Dean grumbled, screwing his face into a scowl and looking away, which made her laugh.

“I like Cas, too,” Mary said. “He seems like a very nice boy, very kind.”

“He is,” Dean insisted, probably stronger than he needed to.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Mary agreed, still smiling at Dean in the rearview as she continued driving. Dean couldn’t help the blush that rose to his face and he stared intently out of the vaguely familiar scene of Lawrence, Kansas they were driving through.

When they finally got back to the house, Dean followed Mary inside, trailing after Sammy and almost longing to be able to hold his little brother just to make sure he was okay, but Dean couldn’t stand the thought of taking Sam out of their mother’s arms. It had been 30 years since Sam had last been in that position, and there was nothing Dean wanted more than for Sammy to savor that touch.

Once back inside the house, Dean trotted along to the living room, still following Mary. Once there, Mary put Sammy in a bouncer and Dean immediately sat down on the floor beside him. “Do you want to watch TV?” Mary asked Dean. Dean nodded, hoping to see the news and maybe find that crazy cult leader guy trying to take over the world or something equally crazy, but instead Mary pulled out a VHS tape— _god_ , even looking at that thing kind of hurt, it was so old-fashioned and ugly—and popped it into an old, clunky VHS player. Some crazy kid’s show, all bright colors and slow animation, started playing, and Dean looked at Sam right as Sam turned his head to look at him and they gave each other horrified, sympathetic looks.

Through the duration of the show, though, Dean caught Sam up on the fruitless research. He told Sam that Cas and Gabe, well Cas, anyway, was searching for the cult leader, hoping to find him and interrogate him on the ritual and ways to reverse it. Sam didn’t have very much to add, just shook his fists around and cooed, almost lecturing Dean but without the lecture. It was amusing to see, and Dean let him do it without complaint. And to be honest, anything was better than the trash on the television at the moment.

By the time the wretched thing had finished, Sam was bouncing in his seat in agitation, making cooing baby sounds that were awfully similar to words. Dean just watched him with one eyebrow raised until he spotted Mary wiping her hands on an apron in the kitchen doorway, looking at them. He sent her a grin, trying to reassure her away from the odd behavior.

“Dean, baby, are you ready for some dinner?” she called, and Dean nodded, pulling himself up from the floor and rubbing Sammy’s soft hair a little.

“Keep at it, Sammy,” he muttered on his way past. “I’m sure you’ll grow up faster that way.” The outraged babbling only made Dean chuckle. “Where’s Dad?” he asked as he followed Mary into the kitchen. He hadn’t seen John at all the entire day, and Dean was pretty sure it was a Sunday so he wasn’t working. Plus, the bowl of mac and cheese and hotdogs that Mary was holding in her hand, spoon already buried in the golden goodness, looked like they were having dinner on the couch. Dean eagerly got up on his toes, trying to look into the bowl to revel at the sight of such delicious kid food.

“Your father had to go out to help a friend move a fallen tree. They’ve been working hard all day today,” Mary explained, grabbing a lidded cup of juice and sticking it in the crook of her arm, before trying to juggle a glass of water, a salad bowl, and a bottle for Sammy.

“I can take mine,” Dean offered, making those wonderful grabby hands that always seemed to work.

“Thank you, sweetie,” Mary murmured, passing down his cup and bowl carefully, trying not to spill anything. When the transition occurred successfully, Dean grabbed the spoon and tasted dinner, humming in appreciation of the warm, melty cheese, making Mary laugh. She always seemed to be doing that. Funny how Dean remembered her screams the most. “Wait until we get over there, silly,” she scolded him lightly.

“When can we have pie?” he asked as he followed behind her to the couch, licking cheese off his spoon.

“We can have some after dinner, but don’t tell your Dad or he’ll get mad at us.”

“But, pie,” Dean argued, “Why would pie make Dad mad?”

Mary just laughed, sitting down on the couch and putting her salad and drink down on the coffee table before turning her attention to Sammy and his bottle.

* * *

Salty Sammy

That night was bath night, and, oh boy, Dean was not pleased. But there was no convincing Mary Winchester that a 4 year old wouldn’t drown himself, so Dean sucked up his deteriorating dignity, and asked for bubbles to play with. He even allowed Sammy in the bathroom with them, playing with his mother and the bubbles like any kid should.

Maybe, just possibly, he was trying to give her good moments with him, with them, her kids. No tantrums, just perfect little ang—okay, not angels, just perfect kids. He loved her attention, though, reveled in it, like other aspects of being a kid as an adult. It was often so easy to forget that Sam’s and Mary’s lives were in peril.

But Dean was determined to get to salting Sam’s room. It was like an itch on Dean’s back he knew he could scratch, he just hadn’t gotten around to it yet. As a kid, it wasn’t as easy to get these kinds of things done. He couldn’t just say, “Hey, Mary, a demon is going to be coming for Sam soon and kill you in the process. I just want to salt Sammy’s crib so the bastard can’t get to him.”

He either needed to come up with a good enough reason to let Mary allow her son to throw salt around, or he needed to somehow trick her into thinking the only way Dean would have peace was if Sam was in a circle of salt, left unbroken all night. Forever. Easy, totally a piece of that mind-blowingly delicious pecan pie she’d made.

“Hey, Mom?” Dean began, stroking his bubble beard and contemplating the look on his older body. It would never work, at least not this pointy.

“What, sweetie?” Mary asked, up to her elbows in bubbles as she dug around for one of the toys Dean had dropped out of sight.

“Are demons real?” Dean never realized how hard that question would be to ask until it was out of his mouth and his mother was looking at him like he was bonkers. Sam was also staring wide-eyed at Dean from his seat in the bouncer by the sink, clearly also questioning Dean’s sanity and probably his tact.

Mary gave a small, nervous laugh, a flash of guilt in her eyes. “Why would you ask a question like that?”

Unable to meet his mother’s eyes, Dean poked a few bubbles, grateful for the camouflage on his naked body. “Some of Cas’ books had them. Their pictures were scary.” Dean noticed out of his peripheral as Sam started bouncing nervously in the bouncer, not moving his eyes from glaring at Dean’s face.

“Oh, sweetie,” Mary began, clearly intending to deny the existence of the very demon she made a contract with to revive John, but Dean looked up at her, pushing out as much fearful concern into his eyes, earnestly seeking the truth, and she faltered.

“Cas said they were real,” he continues quietly, almost shamefully. “He even showed me the ring of salt he has around his bed so nothing attacks him at night.”

Mary’s eyes bulged at the thought of innocent little Castiel Winston showing Dean a salt line around his bed and telling him nightmarish stories of demon’s attacking. “Oh, sweetheart,” she tried again, still clearly trying to deny it, but Dean turned on the full puppy-dog look on her before she could continue, even pouting out a quivering lower lip.

“Can we put salt around Sammy’s crib, pleeeeeeaaase?” he asked. He ignored the way Sammy’s head bobbled, fists pumping up and down and feet kicking like he was either practicing to be a cheerleader or trying to learn how to fly. Either way, it seemed to be in approval.

“Dean, honey,” Mary tried for the third time, and Dean pulled out all the stops, letting his face crumple on the verge of tears.

“What if they take Sammy?” he asked, his voice even higher pitched than normal, wavering like he would burst out sobbing any second.

“Okay, okay, it’s okay, Dean. No one is going to take Sammy, sweetheart,” Mary cooed, reaching forward and pulling Dean against her, despite the fact that he was naked and wet and bubbles were everywhere. “We can put salt around Sammy’s crib if that will make you feel better.”

“Uh-huh,” Dean nodded his head, insisting it be done. He would supervise it to make sure it was right, no skimping out on salt, either. Maybe this conversation even reminded Mary of the deal she made with the demon, and her fear and paranoia would help them prevent any untimely deaths or meals of demon blood.

After that, Mary washed Dean’s hair and rinsed it with a cup of water while Dean continued to viciously stab bubbles in order to distract himself from the fact that his mother was bathing him. He saw no mercy from Sam, and figured the baby must have gotten a bath earlier, so he kept mostly to himself, grabbing a boat toy and using it to reenact the Titanic sinking, making little exploding crash sounds with every bubble the boat popped on the surface of the warm water.

When bath time was finally over, Mary wrapped Dean up in an obscenely large, fluffy towel that Dean pulled tight around himself as his mother emptied the tub. He allowed her to rub his hair dry, but he scampered off out of the bathroom before she could touch anywhere else, and fled into his room. He dried himself off as quickly as he could and grabbed kid briefs with lions on them and was pulling them on when Mary rounded into his room with Sam in his arms.

Dean turned towards them with a huge grin, showing off the fact he’d gotten his underwear on before they caught him naked, and Mary laughed and congratulated him for getting it on correctly. A blow to his ego, but he allowed it because Dean had wrecked her vagina the first time.

Fully dressed within a few minutes, wearing shark PJs over his lion briefs, Dean lead Mary insistently to the stairs. He didn’t demand she pick him up, though, since her arms were occupied by Sam already, but he clung to her hand and to the railing the entire way down, the process much faster with the help of the adult. The trip downstairs was short as they picked up the salt and headed back up the stairs, Dean clutching the salt to his chest and holding his mother’s hand with the other, back up the steps being easier than down.

While Mary opened the salt, Dean poked Sam in the stomach, then watched as Mary went about salting Sam’s crib. There must have been fear in her, thankfully, because the salt was laid out thick, almost a half-inch high, and though the circle wasn’t perfect, wobbling a bit in several places, it was about a foot from the crib on all sides and strong. Mary laid salt out like a true Winchester.

She was almost done with it when John appeared in the doorway.

“What the hell are you doing, woman?” he asked, making Mary jump slightly and send salt scattering in a strange arc that did complete the circle.

“Oh, John,” she answered, looking both worried and embarrassed. “Dean was just scared. This will help him know Sam is safe.”

“What are you on about?” John asked, shaking his head. He wasn’t quite drunk, but he was almost there, and that explained why he’d been out for so long. He may have gone out to help a friend, but he’d stayed out to drink with him, too.

Mary sighed, but didn’t drop her head. “Dean, why don’t you go brush your teeth, sweetie,” she suggested, giving Dean an encouraging smile. Dean nodded and patted Sammy’s stomach, making the baby giggle against his will, eyes glaring at Dean as he walked away.

In the bathroom, Dean heard them talking. No voices were raised, but as John left the baby’s room, Dean could hear, “And it had better be cleaned up in the morning,” and John’s heavy footsteps stomping through the hall to his bedroom. Dean hurried up with the mouth hygiene and then rushed back to Sammy’s room.

Mary was just laying Sam down inside the crib, standing fully inside of the circle, still complete and strong. Even the little arc she’d made because of John had been fixed by hand, that spot not as neat as the rest of the circle, but it would do. Dean nodded triumphantly and carefully stepped over the circle to look at Sam through the bars of the crib.

“Now you’ll be safe, Sammy,” Dean said, a hopeful promise, reaching through the bars to touch Sam’s foot and tickle it. The baby kicked at him, making Mary smile. “No demons can cross a line of salt.” He hoped his statement would help convince Mary as much as she needed convincing. There wasn’t much else Dean could do as a child. Convincing her to keep a store of holy water might be too much.

That thought sparked an idea in Dean’s mind, and he pulled his hand back out of the crib and looked at his mother. “Do I have to go to bed?” he asked, playing the petulant child mostly because it was fun.

“Yes, baby,” Mary said, ruffling his damp hair gently. “All good boys need to go to bed so they have energy to spend the next day.”

Dean dropped his head and started out of the room, carefully stepping back over the line again. “Okay,” he said sadly, making towards his room. Mary laughed behind him, but he lingered long enough to see her stepping carefully over the salt and moving around to turn off the overhead light and turn on the nightlight. The mobile was spinning gently above Sam’s crib, and Dean didn’t doubt Sammy was already asleep.

Once he, too, was tucked in, given a kiss on the forehead by Mary, and the light turned off and door left only a crack open, he waited. He heard Mary going into her bedroom, heard her talking to John, probably asking about his day and whatnot. Dean threw the blankets off of him and slipped off his bed, landing on the floor with light feet so he wouldn’t attract attention.

Then, with skills learned from years of hunting, Dean snuck around his own room in search. He eventually found what he was looking for in the back of his closet, and he almost shouted in victory, pumping a fist in the air and raising the water gun up high. He might not be able to get his mother to keep a store of holy water, but he knew how to bless water, a Bobby Singer specialty, and he could keep his own supply on hand for emergencies.

* * *

From Nap to Hellmouth

It was about noon the next day, right after lunch when Dean was just put to bed for a nap, eyes having been drooping sleepily for almost an hour before lunch and now with warm soup in his stomach, there was no hope for him, except in between one sleepy blink and the next, Cas appeared.

Dean smiled up at him, eyelids so heavy that he could barely open them, but he still reached out and grabbed Cas’ t-shirt. “M’angel,” Dean slurred, drifting off to sleep. There was a weird moment where Dean was suspended in blissful sleep, not even dreaming yet, and then suddenly Cas was there, too, grabbing onto Dean’s shoulders with urgent hands. Dean was distinctly larger, his adult body in his sleep-state, but Cas was still little.

“Dean,” little sleep-Cas said. “We know who the cult leader is and what he plans to do.”

“That’s nice,” Dean murmured, curling his arms around little baby Cas, squashing him against Dean’s broad chest. “You’re so cute.”

“Don’t make me do it, Dean,” Cas warned from between Dean’s muscled arms, partly muffled by his face pressed into Dean’s chest. Weird, since this was a dream, Cas should have been loud and clear, even so little and adorable.

With a heavy sigh from outside of Dean’s head, pain erupted across Dean’s senses, and he jolted awake, sitting bolt upright in his bed, eyes wide and panicked. Before he could scramble for the holy water gun he now kept stored close at hand, Dean spotted and remembered Cas, and his defenses calmed down again.

“God, why?” he whined, rubbing his arm where Cas had pinched him.

“I’ve pinpointed his location. He is in Idaho attempting to take over the world,” Cas stated plainly, not saying anything about the pinch.

Dean frowned, staring at Cas. Despite his rude awakening, Dean was still groggy, and his eyelids were already growing heavy again. “What?” he asked.

“The cult leader,” Cas clarified, sounding annoyed. “He also intends on taking over Hell. He’s killed three hunters already attempting to stop him.”

Eyes blinking just slightly off from each other, Dean wasn’t quite understanding what Cas was saying. “Cassie,” Dean whined, grabbing onto his shirt again and pulling him against the edge of Dean’s bed. “Nap time,” he argued.

“Dean, this is not the time—” Cas tried to argue, but Dean growled and tugged on Cas’ shirt, doing little to move the angel, but his shirt would be a little stretched for a while. With another heavy sigh, Cas lifted the blanket and Dean scooted back in his bed, making room for Cas to crawl in beside him.

With a little giggle, Dean cuddled up against Cas’ side, and almost instantly, he was asleep, lulled into a sense of warm security by Cas’ small, cuddly body breathing steadily beside him.

When he woke up an hour later to the sound of Mary pushing open the door, Dean was alone in the bed, sprawled out on his stomach to cover the entire mattress with his limbs flung far. He was a little upset that Cas wasn’t there, and then wondered if he’d been there at all as Mary came over to him, smiling like a loon, and combed through his hair.

“Hey, baby, guess what?” she asked, her voice soothingly soft.

“Hm,” Dean guessed.

The way Mary brushed her cool fingers through Dean’s hair nearly had Dean falling asleep again. “Cas and his daddy have come to pick you up. They called a little while ago and asked if you could come over.”

That woke Dean up enough that he pushed himself into a sitting position, rubbing his eyes blearily. “Really?” he asked, partly disbelieving, partly angry, and mostly disgruntled that Cas was so determined to interrupt his nap.

“Yeah, baby. Do you want to go with them?” Dean was half tempted to say no, but then Cas appeared in the doorway of Dean’s room.

“Mrs. Winchester?” he asked with a soft, sweet, _angelic_ voice full of concern and tenderness that only children and mothers could make sound not creepy, and Dean sent him a glare when Mary wasn’t looking. “Can Dean come out now?”

“Sure, sweetie,” Mary replied, looking so happy it hurt as Cas stayed there and stared at them as Mary went about pulling Dean from the bed by his arms, ignoring the fact that he’d gone completely limp and was basically resisting without resisting.

So that was how Dean ended up in a car with Gabriel and Cas, arms folded grumpily over his chest as he kicked his foot against the back of the driver’s seat. “I bet this stupid car isn’t even real,” he muttered.

“This can’t be the same human you are always raving about, Castiel,” Gabe said with a mischievous grin on his face.

“I assure you, despite how unfathomable as it may seem currently, he is,” Cas stated bluntly.

“I hate you both,” Dean grumbled, sinking further down in his booster seat.

Dean didn’t even know why they were in a car driving along average Lawrence streets, Gabe waving in a friendly way literally to _everybody_. He had his holy water gun beside him on the seat, for emergencies, of course, but apart from that, what else would angels need to take down a single man? Seriously.

Still, they arrived at the “Winston Home” only after about a 15 minute drive, as usual. Cas hopped out of the car immediately, and circled round to help Dean out of the booster seat. It wasn’t fair that Dean had to sit in a car seat when Cas didn’t, but Cas had said it was for Dean’s safety, and Mary had been very insistent about it.

Inside the house, Cas dragged Dean to a backroom that would have been a bedroom had angels actually slept. Instead, there was a collection of tools and weapons that would have been at home in any good hunter’s place of semi-permanent or permanent residence.

“Also from Bobby?” Dean asked, reaching his hands up in the air and stretching his back.

“No,” Cas replied. “We must hurry now, Dean. The cult leader is a smart man and he’s made a lot of progress towards his goals.”

“Right,” Dean muttered under his breath, approaching a handgun and several magazines laid out on a table. “Real?” he inquired, picking up the gun and inspecting it for wear and cleanliness. When Cas didn’t answer immediately, Dean glanced over his shoulder to see Cas’ eyes bugging out, looking at the gun in Dean’s hands like Dean was actually a child that thought it had picked up a toy. “Oh, come on, Cas, I know how guns work. I’m not going to accidentally shoot myself in the face.”

“Of course,” Cas muttered, but he still sounded nervous, which was a real load of crap, since Cas was also basically 4 years old and handling a badass-looking military-grade blade. “The cult leader should just be an average human, so taking him down won’t be too much trouble, but there is a possibility that he has involved stronger players, in which case, we will need to be prepared for that, as well.”

“Makes sense,” Dean replied, trying to figure out where to put his holy water gun and real handgun, and what looked suspiciously like Ruby’s demon-killing blade, but with a blood red handle. “I have, like, no room on this tiny body,” he complained.

“Suck it up, Dean, we don’t have time to play,” Cas stated, himself having no problems kitting his little body out, probably using his damn mojo hacks. “That knife is different from Ruby’s. It won’t kill the vessel.” He took a breath and turned to Dean. “Once you’re ready, we’ll go.”

“Where is the fucker again?” Dean asked, finally stuffing the sheathed demon blade into the waistband of his elastic-backed jeans, grabbing an adult-sized double-harness for the handgun and trying to adjust the straps to fit him somewhat better. It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough. He put the handgun in one harness and tried to force the water gun awkwardly into the other until he gave that up and just held onto it.

“Pocatello, Idaho,” Cas answered and Dean groaned.

“Isn’t there supposed to be a Hellmouth around there?”

“Yes, Dean, there is,” Cas stated like that’s what he’d been trying to tell Dean the whole time. “He’s trying to take over the world and Hell at the same time.”

“Great, let’s go stop the mothersucker,” Dean stated, pumping his water gun once for the dramatics.

Rolling his eyes, Cas just reached out and grabbed Dean’s shoulder, and in an instant, they were no longer in the house. Birds tweeted and a breeze ruffled Dean’s hair. He looked around them and found they were on the edge of a cemetery that was thick with trees and tombstones. Rows of light-colored stone branched out all around them, some almost as tall as Dean was himself. Nearby stood a short, singular building, no more than a decorative box with a triangular roof and some pillars sticking up.

“Mountain View Cemetery church house,” Cas commented, seeing Dean eyeing the building. “He should be inside of it.” As if to prove Cas right, a sudden shout echoed from the small building, manic screaming that Dean couldn’t make out.

“Is your brother not going to join us for the fun?” Dean asked, pulling out the handgun and cocking it in preparation.

“I arrived while you two were kissing in Cas’ play room,” Gabriel said from behind them, and Dean swung the gun around to aim at him, narrowing his eyes at the irritating trickster. Gabriel just raised his eyebrows and put his hands up. “I surrender, Dean-o,” he mocked.

“Let’s move,” Cas muttered, rolling his eyes even as Dean glared at the adult-sized dweeb grinning down at him like he was no threat at all.

* * *

Mountain View Cemetery Church House

Inside the building, a younger-looking version of the cult leader was pacing up and down the small number of pews set up on either side of the room, facing a raised platform that was the perfect size for a casket and flower displays. He had some kind of knife in one hand and a metal scepter in another, waving them both around and rambling on and on about something.

“We need to capture him alive, and get information on the ritual,” Cas stated, peering over the window ledge of the church that was just at head level for both Dean and Cas. Gabriel was crouched beside them, looking rather unimpressed.

“Duh,” Dean and Gabriel said at the same time, making them glare at each other, and Cas at both of them for the comment.

“Gabriel,” Cas began, but the other angel stood up suddenly and started walking around the side of the building.

“I’ve got it,” he said, disappearing from sight for a few seconds.

“Do you feel any demons, or anything?” Dean asked, clutching at the window sill with one hand, keeping his other on his water gun.

Cas was silent as the front doors of the church opened and Gabriel took a single step inside, garnering the attention of the madman and probably relishing in it. “Yes,” Cas stated, and at the same time, five figures with black eyes appeared inside the church, surrounding the cult leader, and staring at Gabriel.

“Shit,” Dean muttered, backing away from the window.

“Dean, behind you,” warned Cas, but before Dean could turn, inhumanly strong arms caught him and pulled him up into the air. He shouted and kicked, but it was useless, he had no control in this situation, no strength. He was just a kid.

The holy water gun fell to the ground and bounced, Dean forgetting about it in his terror in the crushing arms. “Cas!” he called, his voice strained and weak, he couldn’t get any air in his lungs and the arms were really starting to fucking hurt. He groaned, still kicking his feet, about to attempt another call for his angel, but then the demon holding him suddenly screamed in pain and Dean fell to his hands and knees, gasping for air. He twisted on the ground, grabbing the water gun and aiming it at the demon.

But Cas totally had it covered. He was attached to the vessel’s back, pressing a cross into the vessel’s chest from behind and murmuring an exorcism. Shortly after, the demon was expelled, and the vessel dropped to the ground. Cas jumped off the vessel’s back as she fell, landing lightly on the grass with the cross still in his hands.

“Are you okay?” Cas asked, clearly worried over Dean’s small, young body.

“Uh-huh,” Dean replied, nodding his head, still holding the water gun and aiming it at the vessel. Finally, he lowered it, wiping his mouth with the side of his hand, still panting slightly. Cas walked to him and helped pull him back to his feet, cool hands lingering on Dean’s. The slightest ache he was feeling in his arms, probably where bruises were forming, instantly disappeared at Cas’ touch, and Dean let out a soft, relieved sigh. Cas immediately pulled Dean into a hug, and Dean felt no objections, his hands shaking a little from the surprise and the helplessness. “Thanks, man,” he muttered, grabbing the back of Cas’ shirt to return the hug.

“Don’t mention it, Dean,” Cas said. “It looks like my brother might need some help, though.”

“What?” came out of Dean’s mouth and he pulled away from Cas and looked inside the church’s window. “Oh shit,” he added when he saw that Gabriel had somehow ended up in the hands of three demons, two holding each of his arms and a third who had him in a chokehold from behind. “Oh, whatever, that’s probably just an illusion,” Dean answered after a second, relaxing.

“No, I’m pretty sure it isn’t,” Cas insisted, starting to jog around the side of the church. Dean scrambled to catch up, fearing that Cas would disappear or get hurt, or something crazy would happen. They rounded the church at the same time and ran through the doors.

“What are little kids doing in here?” the cult leader roared angrily from the back of the church, Gabriel being restrained just beneath the raised platform. The man’s eyes were blood-red, not possessed, but possessing some crazy mojo that wasn’t putting Dean at ease.

Instead of answering, the remaining two demons that hadn’t been holding onto Gabriel launched themselves at Dean and Cas. Dean did the first thing he could think of, lifting his holy water gun and squirting the closest demon in the eyes. The man shrieked in horrified pain, slapped his hands to his face and skidded to his knees.

“Cas?” Dean called. When he didn’t get an immediate answer, Dean turned to see that Cas was performing another exorcism.

As the demon fled from its vessel, Cas finally said, “Help Gabriel, I’ve got this,” and turned to and launched himself at the demon on the floor just recovering from the holy water. Dean nodded and turned back to the other angel, being held beside the cult leader by the remaining three demons. The angel was struggling against the grips of the demons, a pained grimace on his face.

There was little time for Dean to think. He didn’t want to risk running out of holy water, so he dropped the toy gun and unsheathed his demon knife. He hadn’t looked at the blade when he’d first picked it up, but now he could see that the runes were slightly different. He didn’t know what they said or what they meant, but he trusted Cas. If he could kill the demons without hurting the vessels, that would be great. He didn’t want human blood on his hands, not as a kid. But then, if he had to in order to stop this crazy guy from taking over the world, then he had to. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done it before.

Dean jumped at the closest demon, holding Gabriel’s left arm, and stabbed her in the lower back. The demon screamed in rage and pain, letting go of Gabriel’s arm and slamming back into Dean, knocking him clear across the room so that he landed on a pew hard. Something cracked in his shoulder where he landed, and his breath was knocked out of him, pain shooting up from the spot and making him flinch from the shock. It was so much worse than the countless times he’d broken or dislocated something as an adult.

He clutched the knife in his hand, taking note as he forced himself to sit up and take a deep breath that the blade was clean of blood. Dean peered over the pews and saw that Gabriel had gotten free of the other two demons and was now holding the cult leader up off the raised platform by his throat. Cas was exorcising the remaining two demons at the same time, worriedly looking over his shoulder at Dean as twin clouds launched themselves into the air and disappeared.

“Don’t kill him, Gabe,” Dean reminded the angel, clutching his painful shoulder with the hand still holding the knife.

“I know,” Gabriel replied, his voice forcefully calm, but there were still hints of anger beneath his words. “But I’m not going to be nice.”

“You’re never nice,” Dean muttered, managing to sheath his knife as Cas fluttered over to Dean, inspecting his shoulder. “Hey, watch it,” Dean yelped when Cas pulled up his sleeve and inspected the red, swollen wound. It was internal, nothing had broken the skin, but it _hurt_.

“This may hurt,” Cas warned and before Dean could shove Cas away, Cas’ small, cool hands grabbed onto Dean’s shoulder tight, and it did hurt A LOT, but then the pain dissolved and Dean gasped at its sudden absence. He reached out and gripped Cas’ arms for support, feeling his legs go weak. Cas held onto Dean, keeping him up, still looking concerned but also a little relieved.

“Fuck,” Dean finally said, his voice thick with pain. He was forcing back tears, but he could feel them pooling in his eyes, ready to tip over any second.

“I’m sorry,” Cas murmured, reaching up to catch the tears with his thumb before they fell. The coolness of his small hands felt nice against the sudden flush of Dean’s cheeks. There was some residual panic and fear leftover in Cas’ icy blue eyes and Dean suddenly felt like a terrible person for getting thrown across the church and probably almost killed.

“Will you guys stop existing in your own little world for a minute, the vessels are waking up.”

Gabriel’s unwelcomed intrusion broke the tense atmosphere building between Dean and his angel, and for once he didn’t know whether he should be grateful or not. He was leaning towards not, because when Dean finally looked over at Gabriel, the older angel was standing alone at the front of the church, hands casually on his hips and perfectly put together, like he hadn’t just been in a fight. Or holding a crazy man. All around his feet, the possessed people were stirring, clutching their heads and moaning.

“Where’s the dude?” Dean asked accusingly. “Did you let him get away?”

“Oh, suddenly you care about that again?” Gabriel shot back. “Because for several minutes there, you seemed perfectly content to be _fully_ occupied by Castiel’s grace.”

Dean was about to retort viciously, maybe even tackle the irritating bastard and punch him in the balls just for the satisfaction, but Cas stepped in. “Gabriel, enough. Stop goading Dean.” He then turned towards Dean and gave him a firm, scolding look. “Dean, you know better,” he chided, and Dean ducked his head, feeling properly admonished. He stuffed his hands in his pockets as Cas turned back to his brother. “The man?”

Shrugging, Gabriel pursed his lips smugly. “I might have accidentally lost him in a maze. I’m sure he’s smart enough to work his way out of it, eventually.”

“What? We need to _talk_ to him,” Dean barked, but then Cas sent him another _look_ , and Dean clamped his mouth shut, crossing his arms over his chest and scowling.

“I didn’t kill him, Dean-o,” Gabriel replied smoothly, stepping down from the raised end of the church and stopping in front of Dean and Cas. “Just preoccupied him for a little while.”

“Well, when can you pull him out so we can talk?” Dean asked.

“I can’t,” Gabe replied simply.

“We need to get out of here,” Cas stated before Dean could roar in rage, but he could still feel his face growing hot with the anger the angel was pulling out of him. Dean was still about to kick Gabriel in the shin, but Cas grabbed onto Dean’s wrist and they were instantly back at the Winston residence.

“I hate your brother,” Dean growled breaking free from Cas’ grip and pacing towards the kitchen. “And I want a snack.” Cas followed behind him, but when Dean got to the kitchen, Gabriel was already there, wearing an apron and an obnoxiously tall chef’s hat. “Oh, no,” Dean said, shaking his head. “No, no, no, get out of the kitchen.”

“This is my house, Dean-o. You get out,” the angel muttered grumpily, but still good-naturedly.

“Is this actually a house?” Dean challenged, “Or just another one of your illusions?”

“Well, if you want to find out, I can show you.” Gabriel lifting his hands, ready to snap.

Cas tried to step up, saying, “Gabriel, please don’t—” but the sound of Gabriel’s snap echoed around an old, abandoned derelict that looked about ready to collapse on top of them. The solid wooden floors of the kitchen were suddenly softer, ready to snap if too much weight was put on them. There were a few holes in the ceiling, and Dean recognized the scent of wood rot, having spent too many years of his life searching through old buildings just like this one for possessions of the dead, for bodies, and for ghosts.

Beside Dean, Cas sighed heavily, running a hand through his dark hair in such a human way, though it did seem a little odd from a child, too much of a stressed-out adult gesture to look natural.

“Okay, okay, it’s a real house,” Dean appeased the trickster, who smirked at Dean.

“You know, Dean-o,” Gabriel began, voice sounding quite smug as he snapped again, the house going back to the way it was before, “I really like you.” He was no longer wearing the chef’s hat or apron, at least.

“Oh, god,” Dean moaned, smacking a hand to his face. “Please don’t go there.”

“No, I’m just saying,” Gabriel continued, allowing Cas to push him out of the way of the fridge so he could start working on a snack for Dean. “I think you’ve been really good for Castiel. And you two make an adorable couple.”

A headache started pounding behind Dean’s forehead, and he was pretty sure he could feel a blood vessel ticking against his temple, irritation rising up and nearly suffocating Dean. “Just shut the fuck up, man,” he growled. “And Cas and I aren’t a couple. We’re just friends.”

“Oh, of course, ‘just friends’,” Gabriel said, still sounding grossly smug. But thankfully, he was walking out of the kitchen and leaving them alone.

Dean turned to Cas, ready to rant and rave about that horrible angel, but Cas quickly stuffed Dean’s mouth full of a piece of buttered bread, surprising Dean so much that he forgot what he was going to say. He chewed the bread, giving Cas a frown as he tried to clear his mouth.

“Crackers and some cheese,” Cas said, holding out a plate. “Just a small snack before you go home to have dinner with your family.”

“Mm,” Dean said, swallowing the bread. “Can I have something to drink?” he asked. Cas smiled at him and nodded.

* * *

Other Side of the Maze

Dean ate his snack on the couch in the library, leaning his back against Cas’ solid form and balancing his plate on his legs.

“So, what, we’re just supposed to wait for the guy to make his way out of the maze?” he asked around a mouthful of crackers.

“According to Gabriel, yes,” Cas replied, flipping through a book without really looking at it, or so it seemed. It was one of the tomes from Bobby’s that Dean was pretty sure Sam had half memorized.

“Couldn’t he have just let us ask our questions and then put him in the maze?” Dean grumbled, stuffing more cheese in his mouth and chewing angrily. “It’s not like I have all day to wait. Or all week.”

“I know, Dean, but it’s just Gabriel’s way.” Cas seemed unperturbed by his brother’s actions, which was just like him. Dean rolled his eyes and leaned his head back to rest on Cas’ shoulder.

“Your brother’s a dick,” Dean commented, blinking slowly and looking at the side of Cas’ face upside down.

“I know you and Gabriel don’t get along, but he is helping us out, Dean. Be nicer to him.”

“He doesn’t need me to be nice to him, he needs a good kick in the pants.” Dean lifted his hand up and poked Cas’ cheek, pulling no reaction from the angel, who merely flicked to another page. “You should kick him in the pants,” Dean pressed. “It would be good for him.” When Cas only sighed, Dean added, “I do it to Sammy all the time. It’s good for brothers.”

“I’m not kicking Gabriel’s pants,” Cas said with finality. The statement sounded so absurd, Dean straightened his head and giggled. “How is Sam doing? I noticed salt around his crib when I visited.”

“I convinced Mary to salt his crib, and I think she remembers the deal she made with Azazel, or something, because John told her to clean up by morning, but she must have convinced him otherwise at some point, because it’s still there. Well, hopefully still there now. I refuse to let all of that happen all over again, even if we end up going back to our time and everything is exactly like it was. I can’t just sit around and wait for that damn demon to kill Mary.”

“You’re doing the right thing,” Cas assured him, his voice confident and pleasingly warm. “It’s in your nature to protect, Dean, and though you’re a child, I know you’re fully capable of saving your family this time.”

Dean leaned his head on Cas’ shoulder again. “Do you think we’ll be able to go back?” he asked, his voice dropping to a quiet murmur as he pushed the crumbs of his crackers around on the empty plate.

“I honestly don’t know, Dean, but I do hope we’re stuck here.”

That startled Dean and he sat up, turning on the couch to look at Cas, who was still flicking through the pages. “What?” he asked.

Cas’ icy eyes glanced up at Dean, then back to the book. “You have your family again,” he explained. “Everything about your life is about hope now, you get happiness wrapped up and handed to you every time you turn the corner. You may have turned a blind eye to it, whether out of habit or refusal to acknowledge it, but you had no life at all, just a long, constant, drawn out fight that had no end in sight.” His eyes focused on Dean again, so earnest Dean’s chest actually ached, and he clenched his hands in his lap, looking from one of Castiel’s bright eyes to the other.

“Cas,” Dean muttered, shoulders tensing in awe and slight fear of what Cas was saying. Cas reached over and took one of Dean’s hands and squeezed it, warm shoots of comfort winding their way around Dean’s body and making him relax again.

“Here, you can finally have peace,” he said, giving Dean a slight tilt to his lips in amusement. “I’ve been meeting with other angels, sharing with them certain knowledge, creating preventative measures for all of the events that have been occurring. Sure, not everything will be perfect, but this time around, things will be a lot easier on you. That’s my promise to you, Dean Winchester.”

Dean just gaped at his angel, unable to even think of words to reply to that. That was huge. That was _huge_. And it was clear Cas meant it, every word. The only thing that kept Dean from floating up into the air in astonishment was Cas’ firm grip on his hand.

And then, of course, Gabriel walked into the room, looked at them, and groaned. “Oh, you finally proposed. About time.”

Instantly, Dean’s world crashed back down to the couch and he glared at Gabriel. This time, it was Cas who snatched his hand away and ducked his head. He didn’t blush, he had more control over his body than that, but if he wasn’t an angel, his entire face would have been blazing.

Fully intending to get off the couch and actually attempt to murder the angel, Dean found that he was being pressed back to the cushions by Cas’ hand, such a solid arm that Dean could never have fought against it.

“What is it, Gabriel?” Cas asked, voice calm, cool, and collected like he hadn’t just been embarrassed by his brother.

Grinning at Dean for a moment, Gabriel let it drop from his face as he shrugged and looked at Cas. “Our good friend is close to the end of the maze. When he reaches it, he’s coming through our front door, so if you guys want to get ready to sack him, I’m all for it. He is not a pleasant soul to be around.”

Cas moved his hand from Dean’s chest, over his head, and patted his shoulder in a matter of seconds, pushing Dean off the couch before Dean could even decide to move himself. He would have moved straight to punching Gabriel, but Cas clamped down his hand and kept Dean in place as he slipped off the couch behind him. Dean still reached out at the other angel and glared, imagining squeezing the bastard’s face right off.

Laughing, Gabriel walked out of the library, completely unaffected by Dean’s nonverbal threat. Cas let him go and shook his head, rolling his eyes at their antics as he followed his brother out of the library and Dean trotted close behind his angel.

They only waited about five minutes before the front door burst open and slammed shut after the heaving figure of the cult leader. The man was covered in sweat, absolutely dripping with it, and he looked ready to have a heart attack, even though he seemed to be in his early- to mid-20s and in good health. His red eyes were also wide and wild, like a startled stallion.

Without even waiting for the man to get his bearings, Cas stepped forward, grabbed the front of his shirt, and threw him into a chair Gabriel conjured a second before he landed on it. Another second later, ropes were keeping him pressed into it against his will, leaving no room for the man to wiggle even a little.

“Well, you look like you had a fun time,” Dean commented from the side of the doorway. He was casually leaning against the wall, watching the angels as they worked.

“I demand to know what is going on,” the man shouted, struggling against his bonds with no result.

“So needy,” Gabriel complained. He turned to look at Dean over his shoulder, waving a hand in the air as he talked, “Wouldn’t stop making all kinds of demands, even while being chased by hellhounds. This guy is ridiculous.”

“You don’t know who I am, you don’t know what I’m capable of!” the man yelled, diligently ignoring Gabriel entirely.

“No, I think you’re the one who doesn’t know who we are and what we’re capable of,” Dean remarked, cracking his knuckles for effect.

The man didn’t seem to be very impressed by Dean’s display, but he did seem to be much more receptive to pint-sized Cas walking right up to him, climbing onto his lap, grabbing a fistful of shirt, and then punching the man straight across the jaw.

“Tell us about the ritual you used to take us back in time,” Cas demanded callously. It was so much like Cas to do it, Dean couldn’t keep from grinning at the sight.

“Skipping straight to the punches, how very like you Cas,” Gabriel stated, and Dean’s skin crawled because the irritating trickster had agreed with him.

“What is there to tell?” the cult leader spat, still ignoring Gabriel. “Fifty people were dumb enough to sacrifice themselves to send one person back in time. Most of them hadn’t even been born yet, and they still thought I could make their world better.” The man laughed maniacally, which stopped abruptly when Cas punched him again.

“How do we get back?” Cas demanded next. The question startled Dean, who still clearly remembered Cas’ promise to him just a few minutes ago. Why that question, then? Dean felt conflicted, unconsciously clutching his hand over his heart.

“There is no ‘back’!” the cult leader shouted, straining to get in Cas’ face and spittle flying everywhere. “It was a one-way ticket to a new world!”

“That’s what I thought you would say,” Cas commented, releasing the man’s shirt and jumping backwards off the chair. He landed elegantly on his feet, like some freaky child aerialist, and Dean couldn’t help but be awed at the sight. Cas then turned to Gabriel and said, “I don’t believe we need him any longer,” with a dismissive hand gesture in the man’s direction.

The wolfish grin that stretched over Gabriel’s face was almost blood thirsty, and the angel took a gleeful step forward. In an instant, Gabriel and his new victim were gone.

Cas turned towards Dean and gave him a warm smile. “That answers that,” he said simply.

A sudden wave of exhaustion hit Dean, and if he wasn’t already leaning against a wall, he probably would have swayed. Cas’ smile disappeared and he was instantly at Dean’s side, the only indication that he’d moved inhumanly the fact that his clothes didn’t sway between one blink and another before he got there.

“Dean, are you alright?” his angel asked, clutching at Dean’s hands and feeling his forehead, buzzing with nervous energy.

Dean just smiled wearily and shoved Cas lightly on the shoulder. “Yeah, been a crazy day, hasn’t it?” he asked, his blinks out of sync as he looked up at Cas. Cas froze looking at Dean’s face, his eyes open wide and unblinking. If Dean wasn’t mistaken, it even looked like there was a slight coloring to Cas’ vessel’s cheeks. Now it was Dean’s turn for concern, and he felt a frown pull at his mouth. “What?”

That snapped Cas out of his funk, and he shook his head, giving Dean another friendly smile. “No, it’s nothing,” he muttered, taking Dean’s elbow in hand. “It’s only 3 in the afternoon. If you want to go back home, I can make Gabriel take a break.”

“Wait, it’s only been _two hours?_ ” Dean gaped, feeling even more exhausted. “What a pain. I am not looking forward to growing up the normal way a second time.”

“It’s okay, Dean. I’ll be with you the entire time,” Cas assured Dean, and that was exactly the right and wrong thing to say. Dean blushed furiously, allowing Cas to pull him away from the wall and guide him back to the library.

“Maybe not the entire time, okay buddy?” Dean mumbled, trying not to think about puberty and all of its joys.

“I’m quite capable of accompanying you at all times, though.”

“I know, just, just not _all the time_.”

Cas merely hummed as he helped Dean back up onto the couch in the library, leaving only to grab a pillow and a blanket from a nearby chair and returning again to tuck them around Dean.

“Not all the time, Cas,” Dean said warningly, though it also sounded like a big yawn, because he was doing that at the same time.

“We’ll see,” Cas replied, and there was definitely an amused twitch to his lips.

Dean grumbled, but pulled the pillow closer to his head and shut his eyes. He felt as Cas climbed up onto the couch beside him, settling close enough that Dean could feel warmth against the top of his head, and even a few locks of hair getting bent. That nearly knocked Dean out entirely, but little niggling worries like how Sam was doing, how the salt line was holding up, would Gabriel kill that guy or torture him for a good long while first, kept him awake.

And then Cas’ cool hand started gently stroking Dean’s head, and he was out immediately, no hope of survival against such an attack.

* * *

One Shot

Mary was amused by Dean’s grogginess, and by Gabriel’s explanation of the day the boys had. Dean was not pleased as Gabriel related stories of Dean and Cas running around after each other for an hour half naked, playing hide-and-tackle until they were both so exhausted, they fell asleep. He did appreciate the trickster coming up with a story to explain Dean’s terrible exhaustion, except that was a terrible story and Dean hated it.

But then while Dean and Cas were saying their goodbyes, Mary pulled Gabe aside and asked about the whole salt, demon thing and Dean had never truly appreciated Gabriel as much—and never truly would ever probably appreciate him that much again, ever—as when he turned a very serious expression on Mary, who instantly took defense, and told her point-blank that demons were a real threat, especially to the children of Lawrence, Kansas.

As soon as the Winstons were gone, Mary went to the kitchen, grabbed a fresh bag of salt she had probably only bought that morning, and went straight to Dean’s room, even pulling his bed out from the wall enough to get a solid line behind it. Dean said nothing as he watched this, only nodded to his mother when she was done. The fear and trepidation he saw in her eyes only made him love her more.

Now that it was confirmed there was no way back, and with soaring hope that Dean might finally get a chance at a real life with his whole family, Dean wanted to get his life started. He was even looking forward to going to primary school, because although it would no doubt be incredibly boring at times, he would get to pretend at being a kid, practice his terrible handwriting, and hopefully be able to make friends with other kids for the first time since before his mother had died.

Sammy bounced when Dean told him the news, but he didn’t seem very excited. In fact, he looked distinctly pissed, pulling off the patented bitch face with perfect execution. Dean sympathized for his brother, he really did, but he also explained Cas’ promise, they were finally getting to have a childhood that didn’t involve running around chasing vampires and demons at such tender ages. That did seem to calm Sammy down, but he still looked a little disappointed until Dean murmured something about Sammy being able to go back to Stanford to actually get a degree. Sammy’s eyes nearly popped right out of his head, his fists clenching tight and shaking with the force.

“Wa-wa-wa,” he exclaimed, looking at Dean with his intense green eyes. There was so much emotion in those eyes in that moment, Dean’s breath was knocked right out of his chest. He could see hope and excitement transform into impatience, and he was suddenly bouncing in his little baby bouncer with the kind of determination that turned janitors into CEOs. “Wa-wa-wa,” he said again, and then proceeded to babble nonsensically, talking to himself without words Dean could comprehend.

The look, the hope, made Dean realize Sam was thinking of Jessica, and suddenly in that moment, Dean also realized he didn’t want anything more than for Sam to be with her again. His heart clenched and he reached out for his little brother, taking the baby’s tiny fists into his fingers and giving them a gentle squeeze. “You’ll see her again, Sammy,” he murmured, making it as much of a promise as he could.

“Alright, boys,” Mary exclaimed, walking into the living room from the kitchen with a bowl of popcorn. “Who’s ready for movie night?”

Two days went by without any incidents, two days of normal living with Mary and Sammy, and John when he came home from work. Dean was living an emotional rollercoaster, finding his thoughts flitting back and forth between being a kid and missing his adult freedoms. Dean was sure Sammy had it worse, but the baby adored attention from Mary, and even John when the old bastard was being nice, which was a lot more of the time now than the last time they grew up.

Despite the securities, though, despite feeling safe in his house with his parents, and knowing Cas was somewhere nearby probably watching everything like a creepy divine pedophile, Dean didn’t fall fully into the delusion that everything was going to be okay. There was still the matter of the yellow-eyed demon planning a visit.

Dean was sure that Cas would have mentioned if the demon was stopped, allowing Dean and Sam to finally reach peace, so he had to assume Azazel was still planning to treat Sammy to a full course of demon blood. To be fair, the demon powers Sam once had did come in handy once or twice in their past, but there was no fucking way Dean was going to sit by and let Azazel do it all over again. Those powers had caused too much heartache, too much trauma. All Dean wanted to do was destroy the demon, and then maybe that would prolong the apocalypse, maybe cut it out entirely.

He liked the thought of that, and he was thinking as much lying in his bed at night, arms crossed behind his head, and staring up at the ceiling in the dark when he heard the faint flutter of wings, and turned to see Cas suddenly at his side. Cas’ eyes glowed in the darkness, looking down at Dean.

“What’s up, Cas?” Dean asked, not even pretending to be surprised by the sudden arrival of his longtime friend.

Cas sighed, his shoulders moving up and down with the breath. “We believe the demon Azazel is making his move later tonight,” Cas explained, reaching out to touch Dean lightly on the shoulder. “The salt line should sufficiently prevent him from accessing Sam, but nothing will stop him from lashing out in rage towards your parents or you.”

Sitting up in his bed, Dean felt fear twisting in his gut. “What do you suggest?” he asked, his voice sounding breathless and loud in the quiet of the house at night. He bit his bottom lip in trepidation as he turned so his feet were dangling off the side of the bed. In the moonlight streaming into the window of his room, Dean could see Cas hold his hand out for Dean to take in order to assist him off the bed.

In his other hand, Dean saw and his stomach dropped at the sight, was the Samuel Colt revolver, pale in the light of the moon, as pale as Cas. Cas’ small fingers were wrapped around the handle of the gun, and they tightened when Cas saw what Dean was staring at.

“There are six bullets left, but only one is needed,” Cas stated. “I will return it to its hiding place once we are done here, and a fatal chapter will have been stopped before it could even begin.”

Dean let out the breath he was holding and nodded, allowing himself to slide off the side of the bed and land on the floor inside the salt line around his bed with light feet, Cas’ hand helping make the drop smooth and light. Cas didn’t let go of Dean’s hand for a moment, his grip tightening as he studied Dean’s face intently.

Something inside of Dean made him say, “Cas, after everything you’ve done for us, I would never be able to find the words to tell you how grateful I am.”

Cas blinked at him, tilting his head to the side. “This isn’t goodbye, Dean,” Cas stated, sounding confused and a little amused.

This made Dean blink in turn and they stared at each other for several long seconds. “No, I know,” Dean said, looking down at where Cas was still holding his hand. “I’m not, I didn’t,” Dean stopped when Cas laughed softly, squeezing Dean’s hand. Dean blushed, trying to pull his hand out of Cas’ grasp. Cas let Dean go, then flung his arm over Dean’s neck, pulling him close.

“You’re welcome, Dean,” the angel stated, pulling Dean towards his bedroom door that was slightly cracked like normal. The hallway light was off, meaning his parents were supposed to be in bed. Dean knew, however, that John was probably downstairs in the living room, watching the TV, kept awake by memories of his Marine days.

They crept quietly across the hall to Sammy’s room. The door was left open so Mary could hear the cries of her baby if Sam was being fussy in the night. Inside was blissfully quiet, no dark figures or demons present. Cas closed the door silently and turned to Dean, bringing the Colt up to head-level, pointing it at the ceiling.

“Here, Dean, you should do it,” the angel murmured. At the sound, Sam cooed quietly, questioning them. Dean hadn’t realized his little brother was awake already, but since he was, Dean crossed the room and switched on a soft light in the back, carefully skirting around the circle of salt.

He then walked back to Cas and grasped his angel’s shoulder. “No, I want you to,” he stated firmly.

The little frown on Cas’ face was adorable, like a kitten trying to understand a concept beyond its grasp, such as stairs. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Dean nodded, patting Cas’ shoulder as he let go. He quickly scanned the salt line to make sure it was still fully intact. “My little kid hands probably aren’t steady enough, and I want him to be gone in one shot.” He turned back to Cas, and with satisfaction saw the determined understanding.

“Of course,” Cas murmured, resting the Colt in both of his hands.

Dean nodded again, then turned to cross over the line and peek through the bars of Sammy’s crib. Sam was already giving him a bitch face, grumpy at either being disturbed in the middle of the night, or being ignored. “Hey, bitch,” he greeted quietly, grinning. Sammy’s little fists waved in the air chidingly and he gave a soft little grunt, wise enough to know that if he made too much noise, Mary would pick up on it. Dean reached through the bars and gently rubbed one of Sam’s chubby legs soothingly. “Cas says our old pal, the demon, is going to show tonight. We’re going to get this over with before it even starts, you hear me?”

Sammy’s green eyes widened and he nodded, kicking his feet a little under Dean’s stimulation. He made a slight noise in the back of his throat, like a sentient dog asking a nonverbal question. Dean grinned at the image of puppy Sammy. “Cas has the Colt.” Understanding spread through Sam’s eyes, and he turned to look at Cas.

“Hello, Sam,” Cas greeted, lifting the Colt so the baby could see it in the dim light of the room.

“Cas-eh,” Sam replied, voice quiet but enough to just fill up the room.

Dean’s grin widened at the exchange, but he didn’t say anything about it. Instead, he walked to the window and looked out at the street and asked, “So, how long are we supposed to wait?” Cas shifted by the door, rubbing the back of his head.

“I don’t know that. It should be soon, though, so be wary.”

Nodding, Dean turned back to Cas, nothing of interest outside. “What’s the game plan?”

Cas’ small shoulders shrugged. “He appears, I shoot him in the head. You keep Sam safe.”

“Yeah, that sounds reasonable,” Dean murmured. He walked back over to Sam’s crib, stepping over the salt line and looking down at his brother again. The little baby smiled up at him, then started waving his hands in the air, exercising his little muscles. “You’re an adorable baby, Sammy.”

For a moment, Sam cooed at Dean mockingly, totally making fun of him right to his face. Dean was tempted to reach in and pinch Sammy’s foot, make him cry from discomfort, but before he did, Sam’s eyes suddenly went wide, his breath catching in his throat, and Dean looked up across the crib to see that a dark figure had appeared looming in front of the closed door.

Dean couldn’t stop his gasp. He nearly took a step back, but remembered the salt and grabbed onto the bars in front of him.

The demon’s sharp eyes glinted in the dim light and he lifted his head to look at Dean. “A salt barrier, how quaint,” the demon said, his deep voice echoing with power. He chuckled lightly, and Dean felt frozen in fear, staring helplessly up at the demon. The demon took a step forward, the salt blowing out of the way of his foot so that he stepped on clean hardwood.

His laughter grew until it echoed all around the room and for a moment, Dean’s fear nearly consumed him. He couldn’t even reach for Sammy, he was too small to get over the crib’s high walls— _why hadn’t he thought of that before?—_ and there were a few seconds as the demon stepped forward, eyes glowing yellow, where Dean thought it was all over.

But then, beyond the laughter, Dean could hear the cocking of a revolver, a slow, steady exhale, and then Cas shot the gun. It was like slow motion, watching as the demon’s eyes widened with realization that he could do nothing to save himself, and then Dean swore he could see in slow motion as the bullet struck the back of the demon’s head, boring a hole straight through the human skull, fracturing it and then digging its way through brain matter and blood vessels. The bullet bulged the center of the demon’s forehead, and then popped the front of the skull, sending blood and brain and brittle bone flying through the air in an arc that descended on Dean and Sam, the demon’s dying screams echoing along with the eternal gunshot.

The moment the hot, fresh blood splattered over Dean, everything picked up pace again and the dead body of the demon’s vessel collapsed, shoving Sam’s crib several feet back and knocking Dean to the ground along with it, scattering the salt everywhere. Dean could barely breathe, chest tight with fear and horror, covered in blood and the contents of Azazel’s last thoughts.

Immediately, Sammy started wailing and Dean was urged to look up, saw Cas still standing there holding the gun aimed up to where the yellow eyed demon had been standing. When he saw Dean looking at him, he lowered the gun with a heavy sigh.

“Sam?” Mary’s voice called out, groggy but concerned, from the other side of the door. Further away in the house, John shouted, too, and Dean could hear their separate footsteps drawing closer.

“Oh, shit,” Dean muttered, looking down at himself and Sammy, and all the blood around them.

The door knob turned, and Dean had a horrible thought that Mary was about to walk in on something no mother should ever see, unexplained violence surrounding her kids.

And then there was a soft flutter of wings and suddenly Dean was lifted to his feet, gently placed in front of the clean, clear crib, Sammy blinking in surprise up at him. There was nothing, no sign of any blood or gore, not even a grain of salt was out of place. There was no body, no demon, and no trace of Cas anywhere.

The door to Sam’s room flew open, and Mary burst in, frantic and sweating. She stumbled into the room, immediately seeking out Sam, who had stopped crying when Cas had cleaned him up.

Her eyes didn’t land on Dean, behind the crib, until she was reaching in and scooping Sammy up into her arms. “Dean?” she asked, and John’s heavy footsteps crashed to the top of the staircase, stumbling and sliding as he rushed his way to Sammy’s room.

“Oh my god, what was that?” John asked as Mary rushed around the crib and grabbed onto Dean, too. “Sounded like a gunshot.”

Dean clung to his mother’s legs, squeezing tearful eyes shut and for once not caring about dignity if it meant being held by his mother. She crouched down beside him, her heartbeat and breathing still fast, and Dean threw his arms around her and Sammy, and all three of them cried together as John stood in the entryway on guard, running his hands through his hair.

In front of him, where Dean couldn’t see, the salt Azazel had blown aside was still misplaced, and John looked at it in horror, listening to the sobbing sounds of his family, crying in relief, not grief.

This was it, the beginning of Sam and Dean’s second lives, curled in their mother’s arms with John watching over them. Dean didn’t know the happiness he felt then was possible, so crushingly pure and bright, Dean almost feared he would wake up and find it was all a dream, made up, meaningless.

But his fears were banished when John picked him up in strong arms and carried him back to his room, laying him on his bed with a kiss to his forehead. “Night, kiddo,” John said, turning off the light and closing the door just enough so he could see the hallway light on.

Cas appeared beside Dean, sitting on the edge of his bed, and Dean felt more tears gather in his eyes, heart aching at the thought of Cas’ promise. “You’re exhausted,” Cas commented, and Dean nodded helplessly, eyelids already pulling heavily. Cas smiled down at Dean, reaching forward and covering Dean’s hand with his cool one. “Go to sleep, Dean. I’ll watch over you and Sam.”

“You’re so fucking awesome, Cas,” Dean whispered, his voice hoarse from his crying. Cas merely chuckled softly, fingers squeezing Dean’s hand and the sound of his laughter and feeling of safety, love, and family followed into Dean’s peaceful dreams.

* * *

A Kind of Closure

Seven years later, Dean was lying on his stomach reading a comic book and chewing bubble gum. His socked feet were kicking in the air and he was resting his jaw in his hands. Every time he chewed his gum his head lifted with the movement since his jaw couldn’t move. He had his Walkman playing his cassette of Kansas, listening to “Carry on Wayward Son” and reading about how badass Batman could be.

Even with his volume up as high as it could go, he could hear Sammy singing at the top of his lungs to Mary, who was laughing hysterically. She probably couldn’t even stand up right because of her laughter, bent over in half, legs shaking as they struggled to hold her up in her weakened, vulnerable state.

Dean rolled his eyes, paused his cassette player and shouted, “Shut up, Sammy! No one cares about ABBA!”

“Aw, Dean, be nice to your brother,” Mary called back, and Dean could hear Sammy’s retort of “Yeah, Dean,” through the sound of “Wayward Son” continuing.

Grumbling to himself, Dean flicked over a page of his comic book before he felt a familiar presence crawl onto his bed next to him, pressing in between Dean and the wall. Turning, Dean grinned at Cas, who was mimicking Dean’s pose beside him, leaning over his shoulder to look at Dean’s comic.

He’d grown his vessel alongside Dean’s growing body, and he was still Dean’s best friend, even though Cas didn’t go to school with him and Sam. Instead, during the days, Cas spent his time in Heaven, doing whatever it was that Cas’s do up there. Gabriel still pretended to be Cas’ father-slash-guardian, claiming to homeschool him and all that, which was fine with Dean. He didn’t want to lose the ability to act like his real age in the Winston’s illusionary home. Sam also found it as a blessing and an escape, and Dean was pretty sure Sam had somehow managed to wrap Gabriel right around his little finger.

Cas smiled up at Dean. “Hello,” he greeted warmly.

“Heya, Cas,” Dean replied, pulling his headphones off so the sound of the music could be heard from around his neck.

“Is that the latest issue?” Cas replied, turning back to the comic and Dean flipped it closed with his finger stuck in his spot, showing Cas the cover.

“Yeah, you can borrow it after I finish,” he promised, flipping it back open and going back to his first position of resting his jaw on his hands and chewing with his head. “Want some gum?” he added, pointing to the pack near to where Cas was now resting.

The other boy grabbed the pack of gum and got some out for himself, popping it into his mouth before twisting on the bed to lie on his back. His hair had gotten longer over the years, and now the dark locks curled over Dean’s comic.

Amused, Dean twirled the locks around his finger to get them off his page, then continued messing with the hair as he followed the story. He read as Batman struggled against the emotional and physical turmoil of the anti-hero life, clashing heads with his stubborn sidekick as the idiot boy kept leaping out into danger, but eventually coming to terms with Robin’s growing independence and granting him freedom that eventually lead to Robin being kidnapped and a cliffhanger until the next issue.

Dean snorted in amusement and let the glossy page of the comic flutter shut. He rolled his head on his hand and looked over at Cas, who was resting on his back with his eyes shut, the only real sign of him being awake the fact that his jaw was working over the gum slowly. Dean continued to twist and twirl Cas’ long hair, staring down at his angel and admiring the adorable features of his face. He might have only been 11 years old, but Dean had no doubt Danny Williams had been destined to be a heartbreaker.

Those icy blue eyes opened to look at Dean, and Dean made a silly face at his friend, crossing his eyes and sticking out his tongue. The goofy look made the angel laugh abruptly, a sound that came out without any barriers, and Dean fell into laughing with him, curling onto his side so that his knees bumped into Cas’ legs.

“Dean? Do I hear Cas up there with you?” Mary called out.

“Gabe said they’re going to get married one day,” Sam shouted loudly up the stairs, his feet pitter-pattering away quickly in case Dean decided to launch an assault from the top of the banister. Dean was sorely tempted to, but a light touch on his arm stopped him.

“Hello, Mrs. Winchester,” Cas called out, leaning slightly into Dean in order to be heard more clearly through the open doorway.

“Hiya, Cas. Are you going to be here for dinner?”

“If you’ll let me,” Cas replied, smiling down at Dean. Dean just rolled his eyes at the suck-up angel and laid his head down on his mattress. By that point, his Kansas cassette had reached the end, so he started fiddling with his Walkman to change it out for AC/DC.

Beside him, Cas watched Dean’s hands work, reaching out only once to brush his cool fingers along the back of Dean’s hand distractingly. “I’m so happy,” Cas murmured, staring at Dean’s Walkman with a smile on his face.

The comment made Dean pause, and he looked at his angel before reaching for the AC/DC cassette on the side table just a few inches out of his reach. “Shouldn’t I be the one oozing happiness around here?” he asked, startling for a second when he realized he was no longer reaching for anything, and turned to see Cas slotting the hunk of plastic into the Walkman and closing it shut.

Cas didn’t say anything else, just hummed and laid his head back down on the bed, closing his eyes and listening to the music as it started. Dean stared at the peaceful smile on Cas’ face before reaching up and tracing a finger lightly along the tip of Cas’ nose. The angel giggled at the tickling touch, but kept his eyes closed and allowed Dean to gently run the pad of his finger over each eyebrow, then pulled it across the very tips of Cas’ long, girly eyelashes.

“I’m really happy, too,” Dean whispered, and he saw as Cas cracked his eyelids open to look at him before letting them slide shut again and took a big lungful of air, letting it out in a huff.

“Wow, Dean, that’s really sappy,” Cas remarked in just the mocking tone that instantly made Dean regret saying anything.

“Shut up, you big baby,” he grouched, turning over onto his other side so his back was to Cas.

The angel laughed again and slid his arms around Dean’s waist, pulling him tight against Cas’ skinny chest. “Your happiness is my happiness, Dean,” the angel reminded him, and Dean could feel his warm breaths on the nape of his neck.

There was literally nothing Dean could do but relax into the embrace, feeling overwhelming amounts of peace and contentment wash over him as it did every time Cas held him.

“I know,” Dean admitted, resting his own hands on Cas’ arms, settling in to listen to AC/DC’s “Goodbye and Good Riddance to Bad Luck” where the cassette picked up. “Sometimes I still think it’s too good to be true.”

“That’s why I’m here, Dean. To remind you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! And thanks to my friends for existing! Love you all!
> 
> Obligatory warning: Do not arm your children with lethal weapons, even if they say they're actually from the future but trapped in their younger bodies. It's probably a lie.


End file.
